Lady Persephone's Lover
by BathshebaRocks
Summary: NOW COMPLETE: Chauffeur Harry Spargo is drawn to her beauty and spirit; but class barriers, the lure of dangerous ideas, and Persie's own spoilt and wilful nature come between them.  Will they get a second chance of happiness- and can they make it work?
1. London 10 June 1936

**Lady Persephone's Lover**

_Author's note: _Upstairs Downstairs_ is a classic British TV series. The 1970's original was set in London in the Edwardian era. It told the interwoven stories of a wealthy household and their servants. In 2010 the story was revived and updated with a new family moving into 165 Eaton Square. The year is 1936, fascism is on the rise in Europe. England is still gripped by depression, and Sir Oswald Moseley's British Union of Fascists are trying to take advantage of the discontent to build their own movement._

_The upstairs family are Sir Hallam Holland, a rich Baronet who is a senior civil servant at the Foreign Office, and his wife Lady Agnes, daughter of an impoverished Welsh aristocrat. Sir Hallam's widowed mother lives with them, along with her Secretary Amanjit Singh. The downstairs household is headed by Housekeeper Rose Buck, who was Head Parlourmaid in the original series. Butler Mr Pritchard and cook Mrs Thackeray are the other senior staff. Ivy Morris is a young housemaid, and Johnny Proude a trainee footman. Mysterious German refugee Rachel Perlmutter also joins the household, which is completed by Chauffeur Harry Spargo. At the beginning of the new series, Lady Agnes' sister, Lady Persephone, known as Persie, has come to live in London._

_Persie is launched into the upper class social season with the aim of finding a suitable husband but, unknown to her family, she has other ideas about where her future lies._

_Disclaimer: the characters and setting were originally created by Jean Marsh and Eileen Atkins. The BBC Wales 2010 adaptation was written by Heidi Thomas._

_**Whitechapel Town Hall, 10th June 1936**_

She seemed unreal at first; a vision in scarlet and fox. He had to look twice to check that it was really her. There was no mistaking the look on her face though: that provocative, challenging smile. No mistaking the swagger in her walk either, as her red satin gown swirled around the curves of her body. She was dressed for a night at the opera, but had abandoned high culture for low politics. If she was concerned at the incongruity of the setting, she didn't show it.

As she had predicted he had arrived too late to get into the meeting after dropping her at the Royal Opera House. The hall was packed - standing room only- and he was forced to stand right at the back, not even able to get through the doors. Luckily his height allowed him a glimpse of the figure on the distant stage. Sir Oswald Moseley's powerful oratory rang out around the room, thrilling his enthusiastic audience.

Some instinct had pulled Harry Spargo's attention away from the scene in front of him; perhaps he caught a flash of scarlet out of the corner of his eye. He saw Lady Persephone standing alone at the far end of the portico of the fine municipal building where the rally was being held. He was a man who was used to being in control, certainly as far as women were concerned, but he knew instinctively that she would be different to any woman he had ever known before. If he had any sense he would keep well away from her. Even as he had the thought, he was well aware that it would be an impossible resolution to keep. The attraction was just too strong. She wanted him; he would have her, and damn the consequences.

He launched himself after her as she passed him and tried to push her way into the hall. She didn't get very far; blocked by a crowd so dense that even her fierce determination couldn't force a way through. He came to a halt behind her, so close that he could smell the jasmine of her perfume. He lifted his hands to rest them lightly on her bare arms in a gesture of protection and possession. She stood out like a flame in the dark. The throng which surrounded them was overwhelming male, their blue shirts marking their working class origins. He hadn't asked her to follow him here, but now that she had, he felt responsible for her welfare.

Persephone leaned back into Harry's embrace. The gentle touch of his big hands and the warmth of his breath against her ear sent unfamiliar shivers of excitement coursing through her body. Her attention shifted to the figure on the stage. The leader of British Fascism was skilled in exploiting the resentments of his audience. It was easy to believe his words as he blamed all their problems on the communists and the Jews. Persephone knew little about politics but she was easily swept up in the enthusiasm of the crowd. Tilting her head, she smiled up at Harry as he yelled his approval.

Her feeling of disappointment as the meeting drew to its end was intense. The atmosphere; the emotions; the energy of the crowd were things she had never before experienced. As Sir Oswald left the stage a small man with a thin moustache and a reedy voice stepped up to announce that anyone wishing to join the Union should go to the recruiting stations at the back of the hall.

"I'm going to join," Persephone announced, "come on." She gave Harry a stern look, which he returned with an ironic smile. Someday some poor sod was going to find himself married to her. He shook his head at the thought, but followed her nevertheless. So it was that Harry Herbert Spargo and Lady Persephone Towyn found themselves fully paid up members of the British Union of Fascists.

"It's too early for you to take me home; the opera doesn't finish until ten thirty and people will wonder what we have been doing." Persephone observed as they walked the few streets to where the car was parked.

"I know a place we can wait." Harry replied. He would drive her down to a street off the Embankment, it was secluded and they were unlikely to be seen there. He opened the rear door for her but she ignored him and installed herself in the front seat.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked as he parked up almost in the shadow of St Paul's Cathedral, "there's a little stand round the corner for the Hackney Carriage drivers."

She nodded her assent. As soon as he had gone she took their fresh new membership cards out of her purse. It was a connexion between them, a contract which transcended the boundaries of class. She had been drawn to him ever since that first night she had arrived in Eaton Square. He had been in the kitchen with her sister's family and the staff when she first arrived. He stood out immediately with his shock of blond hair, chiselled jaw and fine figure. It didn't matter to her that he was one of the staff, he was quite simply the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Every dance she had attended she had wished for a partner who could match him, but her wishes had been in vain. It wasn't just the way he looked that attracted her, it was the way he held himself, the way he stood up to her. She had already tried flirting with him. He had resisted her advances until now, but somehow she knew that this night would be the one when she would finally overcome his resistance.

"He was amazing, didn't you think?" she asked, as Harry returned with their tea in chipped enamel mugs. "I've never heard anything quite like it." She used the opportunity to move a little closer, her arm almost brushing against his. She took a sip of the tea. It was strong and sweet, quite unlike the delicate Darjeeling blend that was served in Eaton Square. It made her smile. This was real life, sitting here in the car with Harry, drinking mugs of tea like the cab drivers and market porters who worked through the night. It was as far from her privileged, protected existence as she could imagine.

"If only everyone could see the sense in his message," she continued. "These foolish barriers of class should be broken down. They hurt me just as much as they hurt you."

Harry was touched by the passion and enthusiasm of her little speech. She was so young and her youth made her impressionable. Whatever happened between them he would need to keep a little distance, if only to protect himself.

Tentatively he let his hand rest against hers, judging her reaction. She didn't flinch, but instead moved her fingers slowly until they were intertwined with his. No words passed between them as he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

She watched him, trying to interpret the expression on his face. His eyes didn't meet hers but instead focussed on her tiny delicate hand. Every difference between them was summed up in the contrast between the softness of her skin and the roughness of his.

Lifting her free hand she brushed her fingertips lightly against his cheek. "Harry," she murmured; her voice so low that he wasn't sure she had really spoken. He raised his eyes to meet hers, which were blazing with passion. Her bright red lips were parted and he could see the rise and fall of her breast under the fur wrap she wore.

Dropping her hand, he raised both of his to frame her face. For a few seconds he searched her gaze for permission, then slowly lowering his face to hers he kissed her. She parted her lips readily, slipping her hands under his jacket and around his waist, pulling him closer. She moaned low in her throat as he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue.

He moved his hands to caress her body through the thin satin of her gown. He ran them up and down her sides, then more tentatively across her breasts, flicking her nipples with his thumbs. He was rewarded with a deeper, more passionate, moan.

After what seemed like an age she pulled away. The lust in her expression was unmistakeable as she ran her fingers through his short blond hair, and then traced the outline of his strong cheekbone down to his jaw. "Harry," she repeated, more loudly this time, as if the word had some magical properties.

Many women had cried out his name in the heat of passion, but it had never sounded so sensual as it did on her lips. Just the sound of it was enough to arouse him. He kissed her again, harder and more urgently. She shifted position so she was almost straddling his lap. He ran his hands down over her thighs, lifting the hem of her dress to stroke her legs. It was a warm night and she wasn't wearing stockings. He felt her shiver at his touch, which only served to arouse him further.

She had never been so intimate with a man before and the thrill was deep and intense. She lost all sense of her surroundings; all that mattered was the two of them. Silently she urged him on as his hands explored the soft skin of her inner thighs. She knew she was behaving like the worst kind of slut, but she didn't care. He could do whatever he wanted and she wouldn't stop him.

Harry was the one who was forced to break the spell. He pulled away with the utmost reluctance. "It's ten fifteen, we should be heading home. You need to get in the back of the car."

"Don't tell me what to do, Spargo," she hissed defiantly, then instantly regretted her rudeness. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. He said nothing but she knew she had hurt him. "I'm sorry, you're right of course," she said, planting a conciliatory kiss on his cheek. "Could we go home via the Opera House, just to make sure it hasn't burned down or anything."

They stopped outside the old building, next to the Covent Garden flower market. Harry leant nonchalantly against the car smoking a cigarette while Persephone mingled with the emerging crowds storing up their comments for future use. After a few minutes she had as much information as she needed. Striding up to Harry she snatched the cigarette from his mouth and proceeded to smoke it. He scowled but said nothing, just walked to the rear door of the car to open it for her. As he helped her in, he slid a surreptitious hand over her behind, giving her a playful pinch. It was her turn to scowl.

Neither of them spoke as they completed the journey back to Belgravia. Every now and then he would look into the rear-view mirror. Sometimes his eyes met hers and they exchanged the secret smiles of would-be lovers. Sometimes she was gazing out of the window, a far-away look on her face. As they pulled up outside the house, Persephone glanced up to check that all the windows were dark. Confident that they weren't being observed she leant to kiss him as he helped her out of the car.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He didn't reply, but gave her hand a little squeeze as he helped her down. "Good night, your ladyship," he said with a knowing wink as she skipped up the steps to the front door.

* * *

Neither of them slept well that night. Persephone replayed the evening over and over in her mind. She couldn't decide which was the most exciting, her first experience of a political meeting, or her first real kiss. Of course her life up to now had been as dull as ditch water but even that couldn't account for the thrill she had felt at both experiences. It may take a little subterfuge but she was determined that they wouldn't be her last experiences. Getting to the meetings shouldn't be too difficult. Finding ways to spend time alone with Harry Spargo would be more of a challenge, but that made it even more thrilling for her.

When she finally fell asleep it was with the image of Lady Maud's face if she were to ever find out the truth fixed in her mind.

Harry's sleep was more troubled. He was a man who liked women, and he never had any trouble getting them. Until now, he had been very careful to keep his attentions to the servant's side of the green baize door. He'd made it a strict rule to avoid the attention of anyone he worked for, or their friends for that matter. He'd had wealthy ladies flirt with him. They were usually wealthy married ladies whose husbands no longer satisfied them. He, of course, would have no trouble satisfying them, but a brief physical release was not worth the risk of discovery and dismissal.

He had only known Lady Persephone a few weeks but it was quite clear that she was impulsive, wilful and spoilt. That knowledge should have been enough to keep him well away from her. But she was also beautiful, with an intoxicating combination of sensuousness and innocence. Above all she had a lust for life that was inspiring. He was determined that he wouldn't be in service for ever. Why should he be held back by the artificial barriers of class? She would be like no woman he had ever known and perhaps for that it would be worth taking the risk of discovery and the consequences.

* * *

"Would you object if I were to get out and see something of London?" Persephone asked of no-one in particular as she ate breakfast with the family the following morning.

Maud, the dowager Lady Holland regarded her suspiciously but said nothing. Lady Agnes turned to her husband as if seeking his approval, before asking how her sister proposed to travel.

"I thought I could use take the bus, or the underground railway," Persephone replied, her gaze deliberately provocative.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Sir Hallam butted in.

"Why not, I need to learn my way around?" she challenged.

"I can spare Spargo, he can take you wherever you want to go." Sir Hallam rose to ring the bell. Neither Lady Maud nor Lady Agnes saw the brief look of satisfaction which crossed her face. She had achieved exactly what she wanted.

Pritchard, the Butler, answered the summons.

"Could you ask Spargo to see me in the library in fifteen minutes please, Pritchard."

Harry avoided Persephone's gaze as he entered the library, afraid he wouldn't be able to control his reaction.

"Lady Persephone would like to see the sights of London, Spargo. I would be grateful if you could devise an itinerary for her."

He caught a glimpse of her satisfied expression as he composed himself to answer. "Certainly sir, I'll take her ladyship wherever she wants to go."

Sir Hallam had barely closed the door before Persephone crossed the room to Harry's side. "You know very well where I want you to take me," she said in a low voice, letting her fingers brush lightly against the back of his hand.

"Come down to the garage when you're ready, milady," he replied, his face as expressionless as his voice. He was too well aware of the domestic politics of a house like this to be certain that they wouldn't be observed. He gave an exaggerated bow as he left the room.

_**Please let me know what you think of the story - there will be more and things will get heated!**_


	2. London 11, 12 June 1936

London 11th June 1936

The garage was Harry's sanctuary. Set back from the house in a little mews, it had been converted from the old stables and was spacious enough to contain the fancy car which Sir Hallam had insisted on, with plenty of room for a workshop as well. He kept all his tools out there, neat and organised. If he ever had his own garage, this was how he imagined it would be.

It was his home as well as his workplace. His bedroom had enough room for a double bed, there was a rudimentary shower, and a hotplate where he could heat up a kettle. He had the kind of privacy denied to the other staff, and it was an unwritten rule that none of them came out there unless it was by his invitation. If they needed him they could call on the telephone from the main house.

It had been a rule that no-one in the family came out either, but naturally Lady Persephone had no time for the normal rules. That had been clear from the minute she had arrived at Eaton Square. She wasn't to know that whole household had been standing for the national anthem as she hammered at the door, but she had blatantly ignored the travel arrangements which had been made for her and decided on a whim to take an earlier train. Pritchard and Miss Buck took a very dim view of that; it just wasn't the way things were done.

It didn't take long before he found out that she had very little regard for the way things were done. A few days after her arrival, Harry had been getting the car ready to take her to have a new evening gown fitted when she let herself into the garage and installed herself in the front seat. He'd had to explain to her that she should wait for him in front of the house and that her place was in the back.

Not long afterwards, he had been woken late in the evening by the sound of someone entering his sanctuary. Lady Persephone had claimed that she had left her cigarettes in the car, but her provocative dress and language suggested that her presence was no accident. At the time Harry hadn't taken her behaviour seriously; she was just a girl, trying to be shocking.

After what happened last night, his view was quite different. It was clear to him now that she had set up the whole situation. She must have known that he planned to go to the meeting when she arranged her trip to the opera. Now she was setting him up again. The only question in his mind was exactly what was it she was planning.

He was polishing the car as she let herself in through the unlocked side door. She stood silently for a few moments, admiring the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders as they moved over the bonnet.

She was wearing a pretty floral print day dress, nipped in to accentuate her delicate waist. Harry watched her surreptitiously as she crossed the room. Last night she had looked like a sophisticated lady; today it was obvious that she was just a girl. He swore under his breath. He had no business even thinking about her, let alone indulging in the fantasy of having her beautiful young body in his bed.

He tossed the cleaning things into a bucket, washed his hands and dressed himself in his white shirt and chauffeur's jacket. His eyes remained firmly fixed on the wall the whole time. Finally he turned to face her.

The smile which had graced her lovely features faded as she realised how stern he looked.

"I've told you before, milady, you should wait outside the house for me, you shouldn't come here."

"Don't _milady_ me, Harry, it sounds ridiculous."

"It's Spargo to you, while we are in my garage." He opened the back door of the car and stood waiting.

She didn't move for several moments but eventually, with a shrug of her shoulders, she took the seat he indicated. He didn't shut the door immediately but stood in close, bending down to whisper in her ear, "I don't like it any more than you do, Lady P, but I've told you before that rules are rules."

As they drove off along Eaton Square, he looked at her in the rear-view mirror. The sulky expression on her face would have done a three-year old proud. She kept it up for at least thirty minutes, at one point even sticking her tongue out at him.

She knew she was being childish, but inside she was seething with fury. He'd made her feel like a child and she wanted to stamp her feet and scream in frustration. It was so unfair. She had expected him to welcome her, to take her into those strong arms of his and kiss her passionately. Instead he had rejected her, and she was unprepared for that. She was too used to getting her own way. Her mother had died when she was born, leaving her to be brought up by her father and elder sister. She had been relentlessly spoiled by her family. No-one had ever stood up to her before.

Harry ignored her petulant sulk and began a commentary of the many famous tourist attractions of the capital city. "You asked for me to show you the sights, and that's what I'm doing," he said coolly, as they drove past Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.

She stared pointedly out of the window, avoiding eye contact in the rear view mirror. Harry gestured towards the home of the Prime Minister, Mr Baldwin in Downing Street, and the Foreign Office, where Sir Hallam was a senior civil servant. Persie's expression brightened as she saw Mr Eden, the Foreign Secretary, cross the pavement. She rolled down the window and waved to him, which he acknowledged with an avuncular smile.

Outside it was a warm summer morning, but inside the car the atmosphere remained frosty. Harry was not impressed by the demonstration of her connections with the most powerful men in the country; it only served to reinforce the huge gulf which existed between them.

"Look, if you're not enjoying this, I'll take you home," he offered.

"I don't want to go home, but it's so hot, I thought we could go to the park or something, somewhere we could have some privacy." For the first time since they had set off, she attempted a smile.

He didn't return it, or at least not immediately. The part of his brain which was capable of sensible thought knew that the right thing to do was to ignore her request and drive her straight back to Eaton Square.

It wasn't just physical desire which overrode his better instincts. Spoilt and wilful as she was, there was something about Persie's impulsiveness and her willingness to take risks which attracted him. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. So it was that he found himself driving up Regent Street and Portland Place, finally parking in the Outer Circle of Regent's Park.

Removing his Chauffeur's jacket and peaked cap, he laid them out carefully in the boot of the car. The afternoon was hot and sultry, so he rolled up the sleeves of his jacket before opening the rear door to hand Persephone down out of the car.

"Are you Harry now?" she asked, coolly.

"Yes," he replied.

"Then you may kiss me," she said with a smile.

"You're still giving me orders then?"

"It's not an order, it's a request. There is a difference."

"Not from where I'm standing," Harry scoffed, but there was a smile on his face nevertheless.

He allowed her to link her arm with his as they walked into the park. She cuddled close against him, savouring the unfamiliar sensations as the light golden hairs on his forearm brushed softly against her skin. They walked for a little while in comfortable silence. No-one seeing them would have thought them any different to the other couples who were out taking the air.

She guided them towards the shade of a great oak tree. Harry rested her gently against its ancient trunk, slipping one arm behind her back to protect her from the gnarled bark. He tangled his free hand in her hair, tilting her face up towards him, and lowering his head to capture her mouth in a tender kiss.

It seemed to last forever, but eventually he pulled away. Persie gave a little sigh as the connection between them was broken. She slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him close against her and resting her head against his shoulder. It was Harry's turn to sigh softly as he breathed in the scent of her perfume and her freshly washed hair.

"There's a café by the lake, I'll buy you an ice-cream." He pulled out of her embrace, but took her hand in his, not wishing to let her go completely.

"Could we take a boat out on the lake?" she asked. At the weekend, the lake could seem busier than the English Channel, but even on a week day several couples were taking advantage of the small craft which could be hired by the half hour.

Harry complied with her request, and after parting with sixpence led her over to the jetty where the brightly coloured boat was waiting. He got in first, stripping off his shirt before reaching up a hand to guide her in.

"Let me hold that for you," she offered, folding the shirt carefully and draping it over her purse. She could see the muscles of his chest outlined through his white cotton vest. She had no interest in the surroundings or the other couples; her attention was transfixed by the sight of his powerful arms pulling on the oars. An unfamiliar heat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the sun spread through her body. She could vividly imagine how it would feel those arms holding her, and how it would be to run her hands and her mouth over his naked torso.

She blushed bright pink as her eyes met Harry's. He raised a questioning eyebrow, but he had a good idea what she had been thinking about from the expression on her face. He steered the little craft over in the direction of the island in the middle of the boating lake, coming to rest against the shore in the shadow of a willow tree.

"Come here," he said softly as he stowed the oars safely on each side of the boat. Persie didn't need to be asked twice. She slid from her seat and closed the distance between them. Their vessel rocked gently from side to side as they held each other in a passionate embrace, kissing over and over again. Persie worked a hand under the hem of his vest, pushing it up to reveal his stomach. She ran a small hot hand over every ridge and plane, marvelling at the softness of his skin and the hardness of the muscle underneath. He couldn't contain a moan of pleasure at the feel of her caress.

They lay there for what seemed an age. He held her tightly in his arms, rocking her gently in time with the sway of the boat.

"This is nice," she murmured, "it's almost as if we were a normal couple."

Harry smiled ruefully. They could never be a normal couple, he knew that. The best they could hope for was stolen hours of happiness like this. A little voice deep inside told him that it couldn't end well, that people who stepped outside their appointed place in the world always came to a bad end. He managed to supress it for now, but he knew that the voice would come back.

Their idyll was shattered by the booming voice of the attendant. "Come in number six, your time is up," he yelled across the lake.

"Damn, that's us. You better give me my shirt sweetheart."

Persie sighed as she struggled back to her seat, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair. Harry readjusted himself and they exchanged conspiratorial smiles as he rowed smoothly back to the jetty.

He brought her the promised ice-cream which she ate as they walked slowly, arm in arm, back to the place where he had parked up.

"When can I see you again?" she asked as he donned his jacket and helped her back into the car.

"Sir H will be keeping me busy tomorrow, but I'm taking you to a Ball in the evening."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," her tone was becoming sulky again.

"You need to learn patience, Lady Persie. You're like a little child in a sweetshop, wanting everything at once."

Persie took a deep breath. He may have been insolent, but he was right. Their pleasure would be doled out in instalments like the romances in the ladies' magazines her sister read.

* * *

It was the height of the London season, which meant that every weekend featured at least one grand Ball. Persie had complained to Harry that she felt like a prize heifer, on display at the market. It was true that she was one of the prettier debutantes, but unfortunately she was also one of the poorest.

She had very little chance of forgetting that brutal fact, as Maud, Lady Holland, lost no opportunity to reinforce the point. "You don't have any money, my dear, so you are relying on your looks and personality and you must make the most of them."

At least the old witch had good connections when it came to gowns and jewellery. She had one of London's most fashionable stylists come to the house to do Persie's hair. The old lady had made it her mission to find a good husband for her daughter-in-law's younger sister, and she had no intention of being thwarted.

Lady Persephone was first out of the house, dancing lightly down the steps. As she reached the pavement she faked a stumble, forcing Harry to reach out and steady her. He glanced up to see that Lady Agnes and Lady Maud were still in the hall, bickering over some petty detail.

"You look radiant, sweetheart," he said in a low voice. He ran his tongue along his lower lip in a gesture which was blatantly seductive

"I wish I could dance with you all night," she replied with a knowing smile.

"Perhaps one day I'll take you to the Hammersmith Palais; it won't be quite what you're used to though," he retorted with a laugh.

The approach of the two older ladies silenced their conversation and Persephone hurried to take her seat in the car.

The ball was at the home of the wealthy Neumann family in Piccadilly. Persephone had muttered darkly about the family's Jewish origins, but was overruled by her sister. After all the next door neighbours were the Duke and Duchess of York. The Duke was younger brother to the King and a man's origins could be overlooked if he could promise royalty as guests.

"Where do you go, Spago, while we're at the Ball I mean?" Persephone asked imperiously as he handed the three ladies down out of the car.

"It all depends, Lady Persie. There's usually a place for the chauffeurs to gather, a tea stall or the like. I'll probably go down to the Mall and meet up with some of the other chaps." No-one would guess from the tone of his answer that there was anything between them at all.

Persephone reached into her purse and pulled out a small silver coin. "Here's a shilling, have a cup of tea on me."

Harry's eyes blazed with fury, even as he kept his expression impassive. "That won't be necessary, milady, I can afford my own cup of tea, thank you."

"But I insist," she said heatedly.

"Persephone," Lady Maud interjected coldly, "I believe that Spargo has made his position clear, now put your money away and let us go inside. You are not a fishwife to be shouting in the street."

Harry and Persie exchanged murderous looks as she turned sharply on her heel and swept up the staircase to the grand town-house.

_Good God, she can be such a child_, he thought as he strode off towards the tea stall on the Mall, still seething with anger at her attempt to humiliate him.

Persie regretted her actions almost immediately. She couldn't honestly say what had prompted it, but she blamed it on frustration at the ridiculous games they had to play. She wanted Harry, and she knew that he wanted her. At least they were honest about it, not like the young men at the Ball. They would ask her to dance, try to steal a kiss, but however fine her gown or lovely her hair she wasn't the prize they were after. The real prize had a grand title or a fortune and she had neither.

Lady Maud and Lady Agnes seemed easily satisfied with her efforts though. They looked on approvingly as she danced the night away with a succession of dull young men.

As they drove back to Eaton Place she tried to catch Harry's eye in the mirror. She wanted him to know that she was sorry for upsetting him. He kept his eyes fixed on the road never giving her the chance.

That night he locked and bolted the doors to the garage. He was woken by the sound of rattling as someone tried to get in, but he buried his head under the pillow and ignored it.

_**This is a very small section on fanfiction, with not many readers, so reviews are very precious. If you've enjoyed the story (or if you haven't) please let me have your feedback.**_


	3. London 14, 17 June 1936

London 14-17 June 1936

Sunday breakfast at Eaton Square was a formal affair and attendance was compulsory. A late night was no excuse. A full range of hot dishes were spread out on the sideboard: bacon, eggs, kippers, kedgeree and toast.

"I thought we might go for a picnic, Box Hill perhaps," Sir Hallam announced. "It's a beautiful day. I'll see if I can persuade Spargo to give up his day off."

Persephone's head jerked up involuntarily at the mention of her would-be lover.

"Oh don't worry, Persie, I'll give him a day off in the week – time in lieu don't you know." He walked over to the telephone and rang down to the garage. The arrangements were quickly made and it was agreed that they would set off at ten.

Persie tried on several outfits before settling on a dusky pink day dress which brought out the golden glow of her skin. It was too hot for stockings, so she chose a pair of white ankle socks to go with her walking shoes. She reviewed her appearance in the mirror, deciding that it was the perfect compromise between sophistication and comfort.

Harry and Persie hadn't spoken since their angry exchange on Friday night. He pointedly avoided any contact as he brought the car round to the front of the house, letting Sir Hallam help his sister-in-law and his wife into the passenger seats. Persie spent the journey staring out of the window. Why did life have to be so complicated, she thought. All she wanted was someone to care for her, to put her first, to love her. She was fed up with being treated like a child, or an ornamental doll whose only function was to be married off to anyone who was willing to have her.

"Do you have somewhere to go for your lunch, Spargo?" Sir Hallam asked as the chauffeur helped them unload their picnic at the popular beauty spot.

"Yes sir, there's a pub in the village that does a very good lunch, I've heard."

Sir Hallam fumbled in his pocket, eventually extracting a five pound note. "You must let me pay, as we've dragged you out on your day off."

Harry's eyes widened a little but his reply was as cool as always "thank you sir, much appreciated," was all he said.

It was a perfect summers' day. The sky was clear and the view over the North Downs was spectacular. Birds circled lazily overhead, while brightly coloured butterflies drifted through the meadow flowers, settling from time to time to drink their sweet pollen. Sir Hallam and Lady Agnes only had eyes for each other as they shared the sumptuous picnic which Mrs Thackeray had made up for them. Fed up with being ignored, Persie announced that she was going for a walk. It wasn't a conscious decision, but somehow her path took her in the direction of the village where Harry had gone for his lunch.

She saw him sitting on a bench on the village green. His legs were stretched out lazily in front of him, and his arms folded behind his head. His eyes were closed but she could tell from his breathing that he wasn't asleep.

"How come my money isn't good enough for you, but you are happy to take it from my brother-in-law? Didn't I offer you enough?" She was still angry about what had happened on Friday night.

"If you don't understand, I can't explain it to you."

"Well you could at least try."

"I've given up my afternoon off to bring you out here. I don't get to share your picnic, so it's only fair that Sir H should offer to buy my lunch. The other night was different. I was just doing my job. Offering me money like that, for no good reason, well it makes me look like some kind of flunky."

Persephone was silent for several minutes, considering his words and trying to make sense of them. Harry closed his eyes again, listening to the soft sound of her breathing. Tentatively she reached out to touch his hand where it rested on his thigh, lightly brushing his knuckles to gauge his reaction. When he didn't flinch she let her hand rest on top of his. With a sigh he allowed her to entwine her fingers with his.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just don't understand the rules."

"That's because there are no rules for what we're doing. We're breaking all of them just sitting here like this. Anyway you'd best be heading back now." He took a quick glance at his watch to confirm the time. "I'll need to drive round and pick you up in twenty minutes."

She stood up reluctantly. "Are we friends again?"

He smiled up at her, a wry smile that made her feel warm inside. "Of course we are, sweetheart," he said, then added, "Just friends, mind." She had to be satisfied with his equivocal response.

* * *

Harry spent the evening in the pub. He was tempted to pick up a woman and take her back to his place, anything to release the sexual tension which had been building inside him for days. A woman came on to him, but her cheap perfume and coarse manners disgusted him. He was getting ideas above his station, he reflected as he strolled slowly home through the dark streets.

A note had been pushed under the garage door. '_Harry, please call me. P.'_ it read, in delicate copper plate handwriting. He held it to his nose, inhaling the delicate jasmine scent. It was too late now; she would have to wait until the morning.

* * *

The staff took their breakfast in the basement kitchen. It was an altogether less fancy affair than the family breakfast upstairs. Toast and porridge were on offer, although if they wanted they could pick at the cold leftovers when they were brought down. Harry was content with two slices of toast and a mug of strong tea.

"Lady Persephone has asked for me," he said to Pritchard.

"Another dress fitting, I'll warrant," Miss Buck responded with just a hint of bitterness. Lady Agnes' younger sister hadn't endeared herself to the staff. She'd got off on the wrong foot, slapping poor Ivy for no good reason, and since then they had found her distant and demanding.

Harry just shrugged. Meanwhile Pritchard had rung the breakfast room and received instructions for Spargo to attend on Lady Persephone in the library.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he ascended the stairs, an involuntary gesture as he shouldn't really care how he looked.

Persie didn't bother with any social niceties as he walked into the library. "I've had details of a British Union meeting this Wednesday evening, in Camden Town. Will you be coming?"

He had received the same invitation and it had been preying on his mind. He would have to offer to drive her. It wasn't the kind of journey a respectable lady should make by bus, especially in the evening. Driving her was one thing though, going to the meeting together quite another.

"I'll drive you of course; you know you only have to send your instructions downstairs when you need the car."

"That's not what I asked; I want to know if you are coming to the meeting."

With some reluctance he acknowledged that he was. He was equally unwilling to agree that she could come down to his garage to change her clothes, but gave in when she threatened to get changed in the back of the car. He had no doubt that she would be perfectly capable of making an exhibition of herself.

* * *

When the appointed evening arrived they set off in plenty of time; Persie grumbling as usual about being forced to sit in the back of the car. Her excitement soon got the better of her and she began to chatter away: Did Harry think Sir Oswald would be there? What if someone recognised them? Should they go in separately?

Harry tried his best to calm her. He had no idea what to expect either, but he felt that he should maintain his composure. They agreed that they would park in the street behind the hall where the meeting was being held and enter and leave separately.

He wasn't too surprised that Sir Oswald didn't attend. The meeting was small, perhaps twenty or thirty people. There were a few women sitting amongst the mainly male audience. Persie recognised one girl and rushed off to say hello. The speaker was a young man who had recently been on a tour of Germany and Italy. His enthusiasm for the works of the Fuhrer and Il Duce was infectious, and he was warmly applauded. The shabby dress and pale complexions of many of the men marked them out as part of that great army of unemployed who stood on every street corner, begging for any job they could get. Their quiet desperation made Harry feel extremely grateful for his own position. He had been reluctant to go back into Service, but it was certainly better than nothing.

They were unprepared for the ambush as they left the meeting. A small group of anti-Moseley protesters were waiting for them, armed with rotten eggs and tomatoes. Harry moved quickly to reach Persephone's side, shielding her from the gang and hustling her into a nearby public house.

"Don't serve them, they're with Moseley's fascists!" a voice yelled as they approached the bar.

Persephone adopted her most supercilious expression, and in a very passable imitation of Harry's London accent hollered back, "What's the world coming to when a bloke can't buy his own missus a drink. Mine's a gin please Harry."

Supressing a smile Harry replied in kind, "Certainly dearest, and will you have a tonic water with that?" He bought himself a pint of bitter and led her to a quiet table in a corner of the room.

He could see that her hands were shaking and he took them in his own, gently stroking them in a gesture of comfort. She smiled and moved a little closer, allowing him to put his arm around her.

"Why do they hate us so, Harry? Surely they can see that Sir Oswald has the interests of the ordinary man at heart. All he wants is to protect them from the threat of war and from being controlled by foreign powers." Her eyes were slightly moist and she swallowed hard to keep back the tears which threatened.

"One day people will see the truth," Harry replied trying to sound reassuring, "now you drink your gin, it will make you feel better."

The spirit tasted nothing like the delicate cocktails served at her fancy society balls, but despite that she felt her confidence come flooding back as she drank it. "I'll 'ave another one of those, dearest," she said, laughing at her own joke. What would it be like to really be married to Harry, she wondered, as she watched him make his way to the bar. She would have to cook and clean for him, of course. There would be no servants waiting on her hand and foot. How would she feel if he went to the pub every night, leaving her at home?

"What's so funny?" he asked as he returned to the table.

"Nothing, it's not funny at all really. I was just thinking about us."

"Us?" he interjected, sounding puzzled.

"Yes us; you and me."

Harry shook his head but said nothing. It was foolish to think that there could be anything between them, but he could tell that she didn't see it that way. She had set her sights on him, and he had a horrible feeling that she wasn't used to being thwarted.

"You know it can never work," he said with a resigned sigh.

"Why not? No-one need ever know. You have days off don't you. Surely you're allowed a lady friend?"

"Of course I am, but she would be in service like me, or perhaps working in a shop or a café."

"I could get a job," she said, as if that would make a difference. "I could work as a dress model, or perhaps set myself up as a courtesan, what do you think of that."

She was joking of course, but Harry was unprepared for his own reaction. He had a sudden vision of her lying naked, with some old man pawing at her. He felt sick to his stomach at the very thought of anyone else being with her. He swallowed back the rest of his pint in one gulp.

"Drink up, we should be getting back. If it's all clear outside, you leave first and I'll follow you back round to the car."

The streets were quiet as they walked back to the car, and Persie got into the back seat without a word of complaint. She was uncharacteristically quiet during the journey home. Harry checked that she was alright with an occasional glance in the rear-view mirror. She had a faraway look in her eyes, and a soft smile which made her look even more lovely than usual. He couldn't resist giving her a jaunty wink, and returning her smile with one of his own.

"I need to change my clothes," she reminded him as he pulled up outside 165 Eaton Square.

Harry sighed and put the car back into gear to drive round to the garage entrance. As they entered, he retrieved her bag of clothes from the boot of the car and hustled her into his bedroom. He turned his chair away and picked up the paper, so he wouldn't be tempted to look.

His attention was caught by the sound of rustling, and he instinctively turned towards the bedroom door. Persie was standing there, her arms spread to touch the doorframe on either side. She was wearing nothing but a pair of pale cream French knickers and a seductive smile.

"What do you think you're doing?" his face betrayed the mixture of shock and arousal which the sight of her had provoked.

"Make love to me, Harry, I want you to," she said, her voice dark and low as she moved towards him. He did nothing to resist as she settled herself astride his lap, her delicate breasts almost level with his mouth.

She willed him to lean forward and taste her, but instead he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. His hands moved of their own volition though, settling on her waist and stroking the small of her back. Leaning forward she bent down to kiss him.

In an instant they were bound in a passionate embrace. He pulled her closer, and she moaned deep in her throat as she felt the rough cloth of his trousers rub against her most sensitive spot.

He was on the verge of losing all self-control when they were interrupted by the sound of hammering on the garage door. Harry pushed her in the direction of his bedroom, shutting the door after her.

"I'm coming, what's wrong?" he yelled as he hurried to the door to find Sir Hallam standing there, looking frantic with worry.

"Have you seen Lady Persie? She hasn't returned home this evening."

Harry took a deep breath before replying, "I dropped her off in front of the house, maybe fifteen minutes ago. I'll come and help you look for her." He left the door open as the two men rushed out into the street. "Perhaps she went for a breath of air in the square," Harry suggested, keen to get Sir Hallam as far away from the garage as possible.

The two men hurried in opposite directions around Eaton Square. Harry cast surreptitious glances back at the garage, waiting for Persephone to emerge. It took a few minutes but eventually he saw her slim frame, illuminated in the moonlight.

"Sir," he called out, "I think I can see her." He hung back as Sir Hallam strode quickly back to the house, shouting angrily at his sister in law. "Persie, where have you been, we've been worried sick?"

"Why so much fuss, I had a headache and I was taking the air. Surely Spargo told you he'd brought me home?" Persephone was defiant, furious at the interruption to her evening's plans. She stormed off without another word.

Harry shrugged and with a nod to Sir Hallam returned to his garage bedroom. Hard as he tried he couldn't force the image of Persie out of his mind. She was like a force of nature, and he had as much chance of resisting her as the oak tree had of resisting the hurricane. The best that he could hope for was that he would bend and not break.

_**A/N I have no idea if anyone is reading this story as the fan fiction traffic log has crashed (again!). If you are, please cheer me up with a review or message. The next chapter will be spicy - would you like it mild, medium or hot (bearing in mind that the story has a T rating at the moment**_


	4. London 18 June 1936

London 18th June 1936

This time, Harry was determined to take control of the situation. He would show Persie that he could be her equal when it came to playing games. The family took breakfast at eight, so at five past the hour he rang through to Pritchard in the kitchen. "Would you ask Sir Hallam if I may take my day off today?"

Pritchard's response made it clear that he didn't approve of such a casual approach, but nevertheless he went upstairs to the breakfast room to speak to his employer.

Persie bit her lip as she heard the exchange between them, trying to control the flush of excitement that coursed through her. She had no doubt that Harry had engineered the delivery of the message to make sure she knew of his plans.

Maud, Lady Holland looked disgruntled at the news. She was due to attend a Bridge party with Lady Londonderry, but grudgingly agreed to take a cab. Lady Agnes was expecting a visit from Lady Elizabeth Langford, 'Betsy' to her friends. They had been chums for years and as Betsy was also expecting they would have plenty to keep them occupied.

Persie finished her breakfast and hurried off to draw herself a bath. She didn't want any of the staff fussing over her this morning. She used plenty of her favourite jasmine bath oil, inhaling the delicate scent as she anticipated the pleasures in store. The romance novels that had sustained her through her teenage years had been very coy about what went on behind the bedroom door. Indeed the heroines sometimes seemed to regard their marital obligations as a terrible bore. Her first experience would be very different, she was sure of it. Just the thought of Harry's kiss, of his touch, was enough to excite her. She didn't care about the risk she was taking, she just wanted him and the sooner the better.

Harry had also showered and shaved in anticipation of the encounter to come. He unlocked the door to the garage and lay on his bed, a towel wrapped around his middle. He heard the door open and shut quietly, and smelled the familiar jasmine scent as she let herself into the room. He stretched himself out on the bed, hands clasped behind his head. There was no point in pretence now; they both knew what was going to happen.

Slowly she undid the belt of her blue silk wrap around dress. As she slipped it off her shoulders he could see that she hadn't bothered with the encumbrance of underwear. For a moment she didn't move. Her steady gaze showed no sign of apprehension or embarrassment. She knew she was lovely and she revelled in the expression on his face which told her that he knew it too.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow and reached towards her with his free hand. Taking it in hers, Persie lifted herself gracefully onto the bed, settling herself across his waist and lowering her head to kiss him. "You are so beautiful" she whispered as she trailed kisses across his cheek and down his neck.

"Men aren't supposed to be beautiful" Harry snorted, dismissively.

"Well I don't care, you are." She continued to acquaint herself with every inch of his torso, running her small hands over the ridges of muscle.

She raised her head to give him a conspiratorial smile as she slowly peeled away the towel to reveal the nakedness beneath. Her hands and her mouth continued their journey down his body, stroking and kissing him more intimately than ever.

Harry shuddered at her touch, his eyes closed, and he couldn't supress an involuntary moan.

Persie shivered too, enthralled by the feeling of power and control. She stroked him harder and faster, planting soft kisses and tasting him with her tongue.

Eventually he could stand it no longer. In a swift movement he grasped her waist and turned her so she was lying on her back. Propping himself up on one elbow he proceeded to tease and torment her as she had tormented him, using his hands and lips to stroke and savour the taste of her soft skin. For all her bravado, he was certain that this was her first time and he was determined to make it special. He had a stock of rubbers in his drawer, for protection when he was with a woman, but they were thick and uncomfortable. Anyway, everyone knew that a woman couldn't get pregnant the first time.

It was Persie's turn to moan as she arched against his touch. She had never imagined her body could be quite so sensitive, and Harry was lavishing attention in all the right places. Eventually she could stand it no longer, she had to have him. "Harry, please," she whispered, her voice heavy with passion.

Carefully he positioned himself above her and slowly guided himself in. She gave a little cry as he broke through the barrier of her virginity. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked softly, "do you want me to stop?" She didn't reply but dug her fingernails into his back, willing him to continue. That spurred him on, harder and faster. She matched every thrust, taking him deep inside her. Harry could feel himself approaching the moment of completion. He slipped a finger between them, bringing her to the same exquisite peak.

Afterwards they lay in silence, exchanging soft kisses and stroking each other's hair. "If your mother could see you now I'll bet she'd be shocked," Harry's tone was jovial, but his laughter was silenced by Persie's response.

"My mother is dead, she died when I was born," a fleeting sadness crossed her face.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, feeling guilty.

"Don't be. I've had twenty years to get used to it after all. Besides, my father and my aunt did their best to make up for it. We may not have had much money, but I never really wanted for anything."

"You were spoilt, you mean."

"I am not spoilt."

"Persie, sweetheart, you are one of the most spoilt women I've ever met." Rolling her onto her back he began to tickle her. Her screams for mercy only provoked him further, until he had her writhing in feigned agony.

Her flushed face and pitiful cries had him aroused all over again. Persie smiled as she realised what was happening. "Can we do it again?" she asked, with the enthusiasm of a child who had discovered a new game.

"Are you sure?" He sounded a little shocked; her enthusiasm wasn't exactly unexpected, but even so he found it hard to adjust to such unladylike behaviour.

"Of course, only this time Harry darling, I'm in charge."

Harry offered no resistance as she pushed against his shoulder; he dropped back onto the bed, his hands on her waist as she guided herself into position astride him. He'd never known a woman quite as bold as her. He had no complaints though, as she took him inside her and began to move. She was slow at first, still just a little sore, but gradually the waves of pleasure flooding through her body eradicated any hint of pain.

She loved the feel of his big, rough hands on her body. Every inch of her skin was sensitive to the touch and as he stroked and teased her, she thought she might explode with pleasure.

Recognising the signs, Harry rolled her over onto her back without breaking the embrace. This time he held nothing back but gave free reign to his passion. He felt her tense around him as she cried out his name.

"I was good wasn't I?" she said, smugly, as he held her close against him afterwards.

"You were alright, I suppose," Harry responded with a wink. That was unfair of course. He'd had his fair share of women, but never anyone who enjoyed the act of love with quite such avidity. "Average, I'd say," he continued his teasing.

"Fine," she responded in kind, "well if you don't want me, I'm sure there are plenty who do."

Harry just laughed, before silencing her with a passionate kiss. He glanced at his watch as he pulled away from her. It was almost four o'clock. "You should be getting back," he said reluctantly. "You'd better shower first though." She smelled of sex and of him. He indicated the little shower room which had been installed in the corner of the garage. It wasn't exactly luxurious, but it would serve its purpose.

"When can I see you again?" she spluttered through the rivulets of lukewarm water running down her face.

"You've the supper party tomorrow night," Harry replied, "and Sir Hallam's dinner on Saturday. Perhaps Sunday, it's my afternoon off so I could meet you. We could go to the flicks if you like. There's a new Charlie Chaplin film on - I've always liked him; or Fred and Ginger if you fancy a musical."

"I'll call you on the telephone." Persie had emerged from the shower and done her best to make herself look presentable. She blew him a kiss as she skipped up the few steps to the garage door.

Harry lay back on his bed with a sigh. _I really hope you know what you're doing_, he thought to himself.

* * *

Persie had no idea how she got through the evening. The conversation at supper was even more tedious than usual, and every few minutes her thoughts would drift back to the afternoon she had spent with her new lover. How she savoured that word. She wanted to shout it out loud, to tell everyone. The thought of how shocked they would be only made the idea more exciting to her.

Lady Maud was the only one who noticed anything different about her. Her sister Agnes was too wrapped up in worries about her pregnancy, and Sir Hallam had affairs of state on his mind. Maud though was intrigued by the unexpected blush which rose on Persie's cheeks. It was a warm night of course, but she was sure there was something more. Perhaps she was thinking of the Mountbatten's party tomorrow night. It was one of the highlights of the season – a small affair and very exclusive. It would be most convenient to all of them if Lady Persie had finally found herself a young man, particularly if he had money or prospects.

By the next morning, Lady Maud had convinced herself that Persie must be harbouring a secret _inamorato_. She said nothing of her suspicions to her daughter in law, but spent the day making sure that Persie would look her best. She insisted on paying for a hair stylist to call, and personally supervised the choice of gown for the evening.

* * *

As they left the house that evening, Lady Maud had good reason to be proud of her efforts. "Don't you think Lady Persephone looks radiant tonight, Spargo?" she asked as he helped the ladies into the car.

"Indeed your ladyship," he replied coolly, "I'm sure she'll be the belle of the ball."

"Now you're teasing me," Persie replied, winking at him.

Harry didn't reply or react. Lady Maud was a shrewd old bird, all the staff said so. If anyone were to guess their secret it would be her. It was hard though, to see Persie go off to enjoy herself, to dance with other men, perhaps even to find herself a husband. For once he didn't join the other chauffeurs to share their news and gossip but stayed in his car, drinking tea and smoking the occasional cigarette.

From where he was sitting he could see the balcony of the Park Lane mansion. He wasn't at all surprised when, after an hour or so, Lady Persie came out and stood there, gazing out over the park as if she were searching for something. He got out of the car and leant against the driver's door looking up at her. Even though she was too far away for him to see her face, he could tell that she had seen him from the way her posture softened and she leant forward staring intently in his direction.

_God, she was gorgeous_, Harry thought. Seeing her in those grand surroundings, while he waited outside in the cool of the evening just emphasised the gap between them. He was glad that she could be such a bitch, as the one thing he could not afford to do was to develop feelings for her. She was just a fuck, he thought with uncharacteristic crudeness, a beautiful fuck, the best he'd ever had, but nothing more.

It was late when the ladies finally left the supper party. Lady Maud closed her eyes in exhaustion, slouching back into the leather seat. Persie was still wide awake though, the excitement of the evening not yet having worn off. It had, as promised, been a glittering event with the King in attendance, and the Duke and Duchess of York. To her disappointment, Mrs Simpson had not been present. It was said that the Duchess refused to step into the same house as the American woman.

'_Can I see you tonight_?' she mouthed silently, knowing that Harry could see her in the rear view mirror.

Harry shook his head. It was too risky. '_Sunday_' he responded, accentuating the syllables so she could understand him.

* * *

They never made it to the cinema. Instead they spent the whole of Sunday afternoon in bed together. In between bouts of lovemaking, Persie amused him with tales from the supper party and the latest gossip about the King and his lover.

"He can break the rules and get away with it," Persie observed, "so why can't we?"

"Because, sweetheart, he is the king and she is rich. I'm a chauffeur and you're a penniless aristocrat from a family with no connections."

Persie pouted. She hated it when Harry insisted on bringing her down to earth like that. Nevertheless she extracted a promise that he would take her out on his next afternoon off.

It was surprisingly easy to practise subterfuge, they discovered as the summer went on. Lady Maud, Lady Agnes and Sir Hallam all had their own matters to attend to. None of them had much time for Persie, except when they were worrying that she might never find herself a suitable husband.

It wasn't hard for Harry to keep his distance from the rest of the staff. They disapproved of his politics and he wasn't welcome in the kitchen, certainly not when Rachel and Amanjit Singh were present.

As far as Harry and Persie were concerned the situation was perfect. On his days off they would meet at some secret rendezvous, then take a walk in the park, or perhaps go to the cinema if it was raining. They both enjoyed the illicit pleasure of sitting in the dark, holding hands and kissing, in a space which was both public and private.

Often they wouldn't bother going out at all. Persie would sneak down to the garage and they would spend the afternoon in bed.

It was easy to guess what Persie's father would have made of it, if he had known, but Harry wondered occasionally what his old man would have thought. His Dad had been something of a socialist. He'd been a teacher, before the Great War, but the conflict had damaged his mind too much for him to ever work again. Harry's long suffering mother had supported them, working as a seamstress and taking in washing. Her dearest wish had been for her son to get an education. He was a bright boy, after all, but when she died he was left to fend for himself.

His father was a great admirer of Sir Oswald Moseley. He shared his passionate anti-war convictions and was delighted when Sir Oswald joined the Labour Party in 1924. Harry picked up on this passion and became an avid follower of the politician's career. He was still for the British working man, Harry reasoned, even when he left to form his own party.

* * *

Harry and Persie were regular attenders at the British Union meetings in Camden. Harry was content to sit at the back and listen, but Persie was a vocal contributor to the debates. After every meeting she would be fizzing with ideas.

"I wish we had Hitler as our Prime Minister," she said, after one meeting devoted to discussing his achievements in Germany. "Anyone would be better than that old duffer, Baldwin."

Harry wasn't so sure. His father's life had been ruined fighting the Germans and that was hard to forgive. She did have a point though, at least he was getting German men back into work and that was something to admire.

* * *

As the summer went on, Persie became increasingly restless. She lost interest in the round of balls and social events, as it became clear that she had no hope of getting a husband who she considered good enough. Nothing seemed to satisfy her, and Harry began to wonder if the time was coming when he would also be judged and found wanting.

"How can you be content with this?" she asked him one afternoon as they lay in bed together.

"I've never said I am content with it. I won't be in service for ever, but jobs are hard to find and a fellow can't afford to be fussy. Besides I can put a bit by and one day I'll have enough to set myself up."

That got her interest.

"Get your coat and meet me across the Square, outside _Peter Jones_, I'll show you."

He'd never shared his secret with anyone, and he wasn't quite sure what drove him to let her in on it now. Perhaps he needed to prove himself to her, that he wouldn't be a servant all his life.

She was waiting for him outside the new department store building as he crossed Sloane Square and they set off down the Kings' Road. After a few streets he turned off into a small side street. Squashed between two houses was a run-down building. A rough hand written sign above the double doors said 'Motors Repaired'. Persie looked slightly puzzled.

"It's a garage. Harry Jackson was a friend of my father and he's promised to sell it to me when he retires. I'm going to do it up and start my own business." He watched her as he spoke, trying to judge her reaction.

Persie didn't look impressed. "It's rather shabby," she commented, stating the obvious.

"It is now, but I'll do it up. More people are buying cars and they need someone to look after them. It will be a success, just you wait and see." His tone was defiant now, and Persie gave him an indulgent smile.

"I'm sure you will, darling," she said, "I'm sure you will."

_**

* * *

So some people wanted this chapter spicy and some mild – I've tried for something in between – which I hope is in character but also satisfying. I'd really love feedback on the story – just click on the 'review' link and let me know what you think!**_


	5. London Autumn 1936

**London Autumn 1936**

The arrival of autumn in London can take you by surprise: a slight chill in the air, the early evening gloom, the first flecks of gold in the leaves. Harry didn't notice at first but slowly the same chills began to seep into his relationship with Persie.

That September both their thoughts were dominated by planning of the big East End march and rally. Sir Oswald had decided that the British Union needed a show of strength to demonstrate that they were still a force to be reckoned with. To him the East End was a warning of what was to come if strong action wasn't taken now. The Jewish community was growing rapidly as refugees from Europe sought sanctuary. Chinese families, and Lascar seamen from the docks threatened the purity of the English race – people said that they seduced innocent white women with their drugs and sold them into the white slave trade. He didn't care whether the tales were true or not; the lurid fantasies could always be guaranteed to whip his audience to a frenzy of anger and hatred.

Harry had been asked to join the Blackshirts – the select group of members charged with providing security to British Union meetings. His height and build made him an obvious choice, and he was proud of his new status and the smart uniform that came with it. Persie was active in the women's section. After every meeting she would talk enthusiastically of their plans for this or that event. She had discovered a talent for organisation and a purpose in life.

Persie had created an alibi for her Wednesday evenings, a literary group which she attended with her friend Millicent Miller. Millicent was happy to agree to the fabrication, even though she never read anything more demanding than a woman's magazine. Newly arrived in London and the daughter of a Northern Industrialist with ambitions for social climbing, any activity which brought her into contact with the aristocracy had the approval of her parents.

Harry and Persie fell into a routine. She would sneak down to the garage to change, and Harry would drive them to Camden, taking a back street route to avoid being seen together. Afterwards they might have a drink, sometimes with Miss Miller in tow to Harry's disgust. There was a time when he had enjoyed taking Persie to one of the grand beer palaces that lined Camden High Street. The high ceilings and plush décor, all red velvet and elaborately carved plaster, were a gaudy imitation of the grand houses where she spend her other evenings.

This was his world though, one where he could pretend they were equals, at least for the night. He thought she enjoyed it too, at least when it was just the two of them. Millicent was a snob of the first order, and her attitudes seemed to rub off on Persie. The two of them would sneer and giggle at some of the less salubrious patrons, making him feel uncomfortable.

There were other signs that things were changing, although at first they didn't make sense to him. Like the evening he drove Persie and Lady Maud home from a supper party at the Londonderry's. Maud was clearly unhappy with her charge's behaviour, and he couldn't resist listening in.

"Really, Persie, you will never get yourself a husband if you spend the entire time talking to married men. Besides, Von Ribbentrop has a terrible reputation with women, and he's German." It wasn't clear from her tone which fact was the more shocking to her.

Harry gave Persie a jaunty wink in the mirror, expecting her to grin back at him. To his surprise she avoided his gaze, and he thought he could see a hint of a blush on her cheeks. He thought no more of it at the time, but later he began to wonder if her reaction was something more than embarrassment at Lady Maud's tirade.

He missed her that Sunday. For the first time since their affair had started she didn't come to him to share his afternoon off. He didn't question her about it, she was a free agent after all, but he heard later that she had been to afternoon tea at the German embassy. Sir Hallam was dreadfully embarrassed, according to Mr Pritchard, who as head of the domestic staff had access to all the family gossip.

* * *

If Harry had to choose one date when everything changed it would be 4th October 1936, when the long awaited march turned into a disastrous pitched battle. Far from securing Sir Oswald's political fortunes it ended up all but destroying them. It was ironic, Harry reflected later, that it was the politics that had brought Persie and him together which eventually drove them apart.

The day started so well. Intense pride, mixed with just a little apprehension, was the dominant emotion Harry felt as they drove away from Eaton Square, heading for their meeting point on Royal Mint Street. They left from the other end of the mews to avoid being seen. Persie sat next to him on the front seat, and they exchanged smiles, knowing they both looked very fine in their uniforms.

The first hint that things might not go according to plan came as they approached the Tower of London. The City streets were normally empty on a Sunday, but the pavements were unexpectedly full of crowds of people, spilling over into the road. These were not friendly crowds, supportive of their movement and the rally. They were angry, some carrying hand-written placards with the slogan 'They Shall Not Pass.' Some had their grand Trade Union banners, proudly proclaiming their membership of the dockworkers or the journalists' union.

As they got nearer to the muster points the crowds became so big that it was impossible to drive any further. Harry was reluctant to abandon the car, but Persie insisted. Her manner was as imperious as it had been when they first met, reminding him forcefully of just how impossible their situation really was. He knew it was the wrong thing to do but he had no choice but to obey her orders.

They made their way on foot to their respective muster points. Harry was reluctant to leave her in the hostile crowd but she insisted. She had her allotted task of handing out leaflets and she didn't intend to desert her ladies group.

Harry's own position soon came under attack, as they were set upon by a gang of Dockers. He held his own, but his companions soon scattered, leaving him to the mercies of the brawny labourers. He thought he was done for until a shout that the marchers were coming diverted his attackers' attention and enabled him to get to safety.

He found a doorway where he could take shelter. His whole body ached from the beating, and he could feel a trickle of blood seeping out of his nose. He breathed long and deep as he tried to recover himself. All around him, the alliance of local residents and workers had linked arms and were blocking the streets, chanting their slogan 'They Shall Not Pass', determined to stop the march from coming through. They were working men like him, and yet he was fighting them. It just didn't seem right. For the first time he began to question what it was he had signed up for. The sensation of being despised by his own kind was far worse than any physical violence they could dish out. He could take the blows, but not the hatred.

He slunk back into the doorway as he spotted two figures he recognised, standing on the other side of the road. Amanjit Singh, Lady Maud's personal secretary was shouting abuse at the marchers, and next to him was Rachel Permutter, the new maid. Harry knew she was a Jew, and that she hated his politics, but he had never expected to see them here. He felt suddenly very sick; everything was going wrong, falling apart.

He needed to find Persie and get out of there before anything else happened. He ripped off his shirt and discarded it, running back to where he had left the car. To his horror, as he ran down the road he saw her get into the vehicle and heard the engine come to life. Damn the woman, she didn't know how to drive properly. He had visions of her running someone down. Scanning desperately for anyone who could help him, he spotted a small group of Policemen across the street.

He wasn't surprised that the young Police officer eyed him suspiciously, his face was covered in blood and he was shirtless. Nevertheless he adopted a firm tone. "I'm Harry Spargo, chauffeur to Sir Hallam Holland of the Foreign Office, and someone has stolen my car."

"Are you havin' a laugh?" the officer responded, looking at him incredulously. "We're in the middle of a bleedin' riot and you're expecting me to find a lost car."

"Sir Hallam is good friend of Lord Trenchard." Harry pulled rank, hoping that the name of the former Head of Scotland Yard might persuade the man to take action.

Lady Persie didn't get far. The crowds were too thick, and the car was too heavy for her to steer properly. It groaned painfully as she crunched the gears. She was brought to a halt by the young Police officer standing in front of the vehicle.

"I'm sorry miss, but this car has been reported stolen, I'm afraid you're going to have to accompany me to the station to answer a few questions." He was exhausted and not a little frightened by the day's events and was in no mood to be tolerant of a silly young woman who was meddling in things she didn't understand.

"Do you know who I am?" For once Lady Persephone's imperious manner had no effect; or if it did, it was the opposite to that she had intended. Instead of backing off, the officer marched up to the driver's door and pulled it open. He waited in stony silence for her to move over, before taking her place.

There was hell to pay afterwards of course. Harry was summoned to the library where he suffered a humiliating interview. Sir Hallam was furious, and for a few minutes Harry fully expected to be dismissed on the spot. To his relief, his employer calmed down as he listened to his version of events.

"I know Lady Persephone can be stubborn, Spargo, but you really shouldn't have taken her."

"I'm sorry, sir, but she insisted. There was nothing I could do." Although he managed to keep his head held high, inside he felt quite sick as the rebuke brought home to him quite how powerless he was. He was just glad his old Dad couldn't see him now; he would have been so ashamed.

"You must realise how dangerous Sir Oswald could be." Sir Hallam continued. "I'm afraid that I can't keep you on if you continue your association with his movement. I have my position at the Foreign Office to think of, don't you know."

Harry bowed his head in acknowledgement, but said nothing.

* * *

An hour later, back in the sanctuary of his small garage bedroom, Harry lay fully clothed on his bed. He was running over the events of the day for the umpteenth time, when Persie appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a delicate cream satin evening gown, which only served to accentuate her youth and vulnerability. She had obviously been crying; her eyes were still red-rimmed from the tears.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, trying and failing to harden his heart against the effect she had on him.

"I'm sorry Harry," she said softly, taking a few steps towards him, then stopping and leaning against the thin partition wall.

"You nearly got me dismissed on the spot, without a reference." Bitterness seeped into his voice, knowing that she wouldn't understand what that would mean to a man in his position.

"I panicked, over-reacted, I know that. I just….well I just didn't expect it to be like that." She blinked furiously against the tears that threatened all over again.

Against his better judgement, he held out a hand to her and she lay down with him on the bed. She stroked his face, running her fingers softly over every bruise and cut. "I can't believe they did this to you," she said, "those people are animals, communist sympathisers and worse."

"I don't think so Persie, they're just ordinary people, like you and me…well like me anyway. Ordinary people who hate us."

Persie bit back her angry riposte. She didn't want to argue with him, not tonight anyway. She lowered her face to meet his and planted tender kisses on the sore spots on his face. Her ministrations had the desired effect. Slowly, the pain began to fade, and Harry took her head in his hands for a passionate kiss.

They made love with a desperate passion, fuelled by anger, fear and other emotions they couldn't name. It was almost like the first time, Harry thought afterwards, as he lay holding her tightly in his arms, stroking her hair.

"I don't see why being dismissed would be such a terrible thing," Persie said as she got dressed to leave. "You could open that garage of yours and be your own man at last."

Harry scowled at her, his good mood ruined. "How many customers do you think I'd get if Sir Hallam put it around town that I had ruined his innocent sister-in-law."

She just shrugged impatiently. She didn't look back as she left the room.

* * *

Rachel Permutter's sudden death from an asthma attack stunned the whole household. Harry was as shocked as anyone, but in his case it was tinged with guilt. It would have happened sooner or later anyway he tried to convince himself, but he couldn't shake the idea that the events of the previous Sunday had played a part. What dismayed him more than anything was Persie's total lack of sympathy for the woman. He knew she was selfish but it was hard to accept that his lover could be so heartless.

Perhaps it was because of his guilt that he tried to make it up to Rachel's orphan daughter Lotte. The little girl had been abandoned by her foster parents now there was no money to pay them, but the staff at Eaton Square were determined to make a home for her. Little Ivy, the young maid, took the child to her heart, spending every free moment playing with her, and stealing cakes and fancies to try to win her over. Harry took her out with him, in the hope that the excitement of travelling in a motor car might break through her self-imposed silence.

Persie was dismissive of their efforts. "Why should we have to take in every waif and stray, taking the food out of our mouths?" was her heartless opinion, "she should be sent back to Germany. Herr Hitler has the right idea."

He knew she was still going to the British Union meetings. He made excuses at first, but it wasn't just Sir Hallam's warning that deterred him. He had seen the terrible impact Sir Oswald's ideas could have, and he wanted no more to do with it.

Persie still came to him at night, but less often now. Every time he determined that it would be the last, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even the gradual realisation that she was seeing another man wasn't quite enough to make the break. He had a shrewd idea who it was, but said nothing.

In the end her increasing recklessness forced his hand. It was as if she wanted them to be caught out. She teased him what fun it would be if they were found together in her room. She let Lady Maud see her pick a stray hair off his collar as they got into the car one evening – the kind of gesture that only happens between lovers. She didn't seem to care about the consequences for him, or for herself.

He knew he would have to end it, before she destroyed them both. It wasn't that he loved her, he told himself. She was too selfish, too reckless for him to really care, but there was something about her that had a hold over him. Perhaps it was the vulnerability which he saw beneath that haughty shell.

He did it though, one night, with just a little additional courage from a couple of whiskies. She was waiting for him when he came home from the pub. She looked as lovely as ever in her Chinese silk dressing gown, but something about the way she stood there, looking as if she owned the place, finally provoked him to action.

"I've often wondered what it would be like, to have a man come home to you from a public house."

"Well you can carry on wondering, this isn't your home, and I haven't come to you," he said harshly. He stood by the door, his expression blank. His heart was pounding, but no-one would have known. Anyone looking at them would have thought she was a stranger to him. He couldn't meet her eyes though, couldn't face that look of pain and confusion on her face.

"You've changed your tune," she said accusingly.

"I've changed." He held the door open for her to leave.

Persie stormed off, furious. She wasn't sure she even wanted him any more, now he had abandoned the fascist cause, but to have him finish it like that was humiliating. She hated him, she decided as she paced the empty drawing room, she would never speak to him again. A treacherous memory of how good it felt to lie in his arms briefly stilled her anger, but she suppressed it ruthlessly, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. At least there was one man who understood her. Picking up the telephone, she rang the German embassy.

* * *

It wasn't difficult for Harry to avoid her over the next few weeks. The King's affair with Mrs Simpson was on the verge of become public and the crisis was taking up all of Sir Hallam's time. Harry was kept busy driving him to Whitehall, Lambeth Palace and select private houses, where the upper echelons of the British establishment gathered to try to work out what on earth to do.

Meanwhile the gossip in the downstairs kitchen at Eaton Place was that Lady Persie had a man friend. Mr Pritchard reported finding cigarette ends in the ashtray from a brand which no-one in the house smoked. Ivy said she had heard the front door shut at three in the morning when Lotte's tears kept her awake. Harry said nothing. There would be hell to pay when Sir Hallam found out who was sleeping with his sister-in-law, but he wasn't going to be the one to snitch on her.

The royal crisis came to a head in December, and the family crisis played itself out on the same day. Lady Persephone announced that she was leaving London and would be going to Berlin with Herr von Ribbentrop. Harry was to drive her to the German Embassy to listen to the King's abdication speech on the wireless.

She waited in the entrance hall, dabbing her face with powder to hide her emotions. She kept her back to Harry, watching him in the mirror of her powder compact as he came in through the front door to collect her bags. He couldn't see the look of regret that crossed her face.

"Is there anything we should say to one another?" she asked. '_Beg me not to leave, say you'll love me for ever', _were the thoughts that came unbidden into her mind.

She couldn't read his face, but she thought there was a hint of sadness. She noticed him swallow hard as he bent down to pick up the suitcases. He paused a moment to look at her before answering.

"I don't know what you mean, Lady Persephone." Harry used her full name coldly and deliberately. From this moment on, she was dead to him.

**

* * *

May 1938**

"Do you think there will be a war, Sir?"

Harry was in Sir Hallam's study, waiting for him to sort some papers which had to be delivered to the French Embassy.

"I'm afraid it is inevitable, Spargo. Chamberlain never had a chance, he was a fool to be taken in by Herr Hitler's lies." Sir Hallam was rarely so blunt, and that alone was enough to convince Harry that he was speaking the truth.

"If I were you, I would think about enlisting now. Conscription will be introduced eventually, but if you join up as a volunteer you can get a good position. I could put in a word for you if you like. Perhaps the Royal Engineers might suit?"

Harry considered for a moment. His father's experience of war had scarred him, but when it came down to it, a man had to fight for his country.

"I've just one favour to ask before you resign. Could you please teach me to drive?"

_**So this was where the three part TV series ended, but my story will carry on for a few more chapters – back soon to find out what happens to Harry as war engulfs Europe, and whether Persie finds the happiness she seeks. As always I would love some feedback.**_


	6. Berlin June 1945

**Berlin June 1945**

There was no such a thing as a good war, Harry reflected, but on balance he hadn't done too badly. He had survived intact in body and mind. He had risen through the ranks to the position of Staff Sergeant, and had been decorated for bravery several times. Now his thoughts were of the future. It was officially his rest day, and he was sitting on a bench in the parade ground of the British barracks in Berlin, nursing a cup of tea and smoking a thin roll-up cigarette, as he soaked up the warm June sunshine.

Not for the first time he was glad of Sir Hallam's advice to enlist early, before the introduction of conscription. He would be one of the first to be demobbed and with any luck would be back in London by August. He had received a generous bonus of one hundred pounds when he left the service of the Holland family, and that, with the money he had put by had been enough to buy his garage. He'd used every leave he'd had to keep it tidy, repairing the bomb damage and making improvements so it would be ready for him after the war. Luckily it had never taken a direct hit, unlike several neighbouring houses. Most of his waking moments were taken up with thoughts of the new life ahead of him.

The approach of a young Private interrupted his thoughts. The boy was just seventeen, barely old enough to shave. He saluted awkwardly and delivered his message that Sgt Spargo was to report to Major Fitzroy.

"There is a group of women in the Russian sector, wives and daughters of the Nazi high command. We're going to be holding them here while they are interrogated to see if they should stand trial. Anything in the soviet sector is sensitive so I need some men I can trust not to foul things up." Fitzroy explained as Harry stood to attention in his office.

Harry sighed. He had no problem with a fair fight, man to man, but the involvement of civilians in war made him uncomfortable. There were appalling rumours coming out of the Russian sector about the treatment of civilians. The Reds had suffered terrible things at the hands of the Wehrmacht and now they were getting their revenge.

He chose a couple of the men he could trust to be discreet and calm. For once, things ran smoothly. They were met at the checkpoint by a Soviet officer who spoke good English and escorted to the semi-derelict hotel where the women were staying.

"We would keep them here, but I'm afraid we can't control all of our men," the Russian confided. "It doesn't matter what they do to the ordinary women, but we can't risk an incident if something were to happen to one of these bitches."

Harry considered himself battle hardened but even he was shocked by the man's callous attitude. He had no sympathy for any Nazi, man or woman. He wanted to see them brought to justice but that justice shouldn't be meted out by brutal common soldiers.

The women he had come for had been wives and lovers of the most powerful men in Germany. Even late in the war, when ordinary people were surviving on the most miserable rations, they had access to meat and vegetables. Harry was shocked to see the state they were in now. Several had obviously been the victims of assault, whether by soldiers or civilians he couldn't tell, but their hair had been hacked roughly from their heads and they bore the marks of beatings.

Their dresses must once have been fashionable, but had been repeatedly patched and mended. What struck him most forcefully were the defeated expressions in their sunken eyes. These were women who knew that life now held nothing but pain and misery.

"Get them into the trucks," Harry ordered, moving amongst the women to chivvy them along.

"_Come along, we need to get you out of here. We're not going to hurt you." _His German was fluent as he spoke to the women in their own language. He tried not to show his impatience as they slowly gathered up their meagre belongings and made their way to the small convoy which waited outside. Their husbands had ordered millions of people rounded up like this and sent to their deaths. Did they know? Did they care? He very much doubted it.

Most of them avoided his eyes as they passed. One or two gave curious glances, perhaps wondering whether they could trust him, and what fate had in store for them. A tall woman with roughly cropped blonde hair gave him a 'come-hither' look, as if she could use her body to buy her freedom. Harry was tempted to slap her, but contended himself with a withering stare.

Then, without warning, a defiant glance from one of the women reminded him quite unexpectedly of Persie. As his eyes met hers, the image of a beautiful twenty year old woman flashed in front of him. It couldn't be her though. This woman was pale and emaciated, but more than that her eyes were dead. He looked at her again, scanning for any sign of recognition but there was none.

It had been two or three years since he had last thought of his former lover. When she left for Berlin, he had determined to erase her from his memory. It had been hard at first, just the hint of her familiar jasmine scent or a flash of red satin had been enough to vividly recall her presence. He had been ruthless though, supressing every though of her and what might have been.

He turned to other women for comfort and gradually the memories faded, until he could no longer clearly remember what she looked like. She was, as Mr Pritchard liked to say, _persona non grata _at Eaton Square, so no photographs remained and her name was never mentioned.

Anxious to get back to the safety of the British sector he chivvied the women along until they were all loaded and the two trucks began their journey back. A brief report to the Major and he was able to enjoy the last hour of warmth in the afternoon sun. He was deep in thought, planning his future back in London, when he was interrupted by the sound of juvenile giggling. It was coming from the direction of the women's barracks where he had delivered his human cargo. They were to be examined by the small group of WRACs who had been shipped in as guards.

Strolling quietly towards the scene, he saw that two of the new recruits, recently shipped out from England, had found a gap in the wooden wall of the shelter from where they could observe the women being strip searched. He silenced their sniggers with a clip round the ear, and brusquely ordered them to report to the Sergeant Major. A few hours scrubbing the parade ground would cool their overexcited imaginations.

He couldn't help an involuntary glance through the window as he turned away. This time, as soon as he saw her, he knew. There was something about the defiant way she held herself, even in the face of such humiliation. She was so thin that each vertebrae of her spine was clearly visible through skin as pale as parchment. The curve of her hips was familiar to him, and the little birthmark in the small of her back. It looked like a small bird. She had joked that it was her phoenix, and that it proved that she would always rise from the ashes.

This time she met his gaze and didn't turn away. She gave no sign that she recognised him, but the haughty expression was pure Persie. He was almost tempted to laugh, but his mind quickly turned to the more pressing matter of what on earth to do about her. He would have to inform Major Fitzroy, and let him decide. He turned away and walked briskly towards the officer's mess, where afternoon tea was being served.

"Sir, do you know Sir Hallam Holland?" He stood to attention, saluting his senior officer.

The Major looked puzzled at the unexpected question.

"He's at the Foreign Office, a Permanent Secretary now I think." Harry added, by way of explanation.

"Of course I know old Hollers, we were at school together. In fact, he was the one who recommended you to me in '38." His features settled back into a contented smile as he made the connection between the two men.

"Did you hear about his sister-in-law, Lady Persephone Towyn?"

"Of course I did, it was quite a little scandal, ran off with a Jerry didn't she?" The Major grinned as he remembered the stories he had been told about her. She'd had at least three men on the go at the same time, it was said.

Harry kept a straight face, determined to give nothing away. "The thing is, Sir, I think I recognise her amongst that group of women we brought in."

"Oh, I see." He sighed. That complicated things, not only was Hallam an old school friend, but he had been told to avoid any diplomatic embarrassments, so an English woman on his hands was the last thing he needed.

"I'll telegraph London and get orders. Take this to the radio operator." He scribbled out a short message for Harry to deliver. "In the meantime, have her brought to my office."

Harry was sitting in a chair to one side, and the Major perched on the front of his desk when the WRAC escort brought Persie in. She was dressed now, back in the shabby floral frock she had been wearing earlier.

"Lady Persephone Towyn?" the Major asked.

"Frau von Braun," she snapped back defiantly.

"I don't have time for games. Can you confirm that your maiden name was Persephone Towyn?"

This time she just nodded in acknowledgement. She hadn't looked at Harry since entering the room, but now she shot him a quick glance.

"I'm getting orders from London, but for now, I'll need to place you in the custody of Staff Sergeant Spargo," the Major continued.

"I don't want special treatment," she replied firmly. "I don't know what you have in store for the others, but I am as guilty or innocent as they are, please send me back."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He had to confess himself impressed by her bravery. Most women would have jumped at the opportunity to take the easy way out.

"I'm sorry, your Ladyship.."

"Fraulein von Braun" she interjected brusquely, but the Major ignored her. He had no time for petty stubbornness.

"…your Ladyship, it's just not possible. You are a British citizen, and your family…well let's just say they have connections."

Persie scowled. She had renounced her citizenship, but the records of her decision lay destroyed in the bombed out centre of the city.

Major Fitzroy indicated to Harry, who stood to attention. "Find somewhere safe and secure for her will you, Spargo." He gave his Sergeant a meaningful look. A barracks full of men was not a safe place for her.

"She can have my room, Sir. I'll bunk up with the men tonight." He reached out to take Persie by the arm but she shrugged him off, walking out in front of him, head held high.

It was only when they reached his small room with its Spartan single bed that she showed any trace of emotion. Her shoulders hunched in as she sat down on the grey blanket, and she blinked hard as if fighting back tears. Harry took a seat at his writing desk, looking past her to the small window above her head. They were silent for several minutes, neither knowing quite what to say.

Finally he spoke. "I had to point you out, you do understand, don't you? The women are to be interrogated; they could be brought to trial, imprisoned, or worse. How would it look if I let that go ahead and said nothing?"

"I know what you think of me, Harry, and you're right. I made my bed and I must lie in it, isn't that what they say. I don't deserve any special treatment."

"Yeah, well, you know what I think; the rules are different for people like you." Harry couldn't help but sound bitter. Seeing her now brought back a lot of painful memories. He couldn't hide his curiosity though. "What happened to you after you left London?" he asked.

"I went to Berlin with Joachim von Ribbentrop. He was my lover you know…" once again she adopted that familiar, defiant tone.

"Yes, I know," Harry said quietly, provoking a look of surprise from her.

"When we got to Berlin, his wife was there. She complained to Hitler, and Joachim was ordered to drop me." Now she was the one to sound bitter. "He arranged for me to be married off to Otto von Braun. He was an aide in the Fuhrer's office, someone who could be trusted to do as he was told and keep quiet about it."

"Were you happy?" Harry asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Persie didn't reply at first, just gave a snort of disgust. "Let's say that Otto wasn't really a ladies man. The marriage was convenient for him, but no, neither of us were happy. Anyway he's dead now. He was in the bunker, with his master."

"I'll get you a cup of tea, and some supper if you're hungry." Harry didn't want to hear any more. The thought of what she'd done disgusted him, but he could tell that she had suffered and he was surprised to realise that hurt him.

"Thank you." Then, as he stood up to leave she blurted out, "I know I was foolish, Harry, foolish and reckless, and believe me I paid for it. I do know what was going on in the Reich, how many people suffered. There was nothing I could have done to stop any of it, of course, but that doesn't stop me feeling guilty."

Harry locked the door behind him, and walked down to the Mess. He wondered if she was telling him the truth, or just what she wanted him to hear.

A reply to the Major's telegraph came back later that evening from London. Lady Persephone was to be escorted back to England as soon as possible. As soon as he heard the news, Harry realised that he would be appointed as the escort. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was an order so he had no choice. A regular flight was leaving the next morning, taking some chaps back on leave, and they would be on it. Persie sat at the front of the plane, with Harry next to her. Neither of them spoke during the flight.

* * *

There was a message waiting when they landed at Croydon. Sir Hallam had been called to an emergency meeting in the War Office, so he'd sent a car for them.

"You'll be fine," Harry said encouragingly as he helped Persie into the car. She didn't let go of his hand though, but clung onto it like a small child being parted from her mother.

"Please Harry, I can't do this on my own, please come with me?"

He wanted to say that he couldn't, that he had things to do. It wasn't entirely a lie, he was hoping to make a quick recce of the garage before he had to return to Berlin. What concerned him more though was that he would get sucked back into her life, that was something he wanted to avoid. She looked so pathetic and helpless though, he just couldn't bear to say no to her.

"I wish I didn't have to face them like this," she said, looking down at the dress which had been mended once too often and the scuffed shoes that even a British Army polish couldn't rescue.

Harry scowled. Most British women had to make do and mend, as the slogan went, but they didn't complain. He had to admit though that she did look terrible. It wasn't just her gaunt frame; her skin was pale and her hair had not recovered from the frenzied assault that had been perpetrated on it.

She read the disgust in his expression, "I know I shouldn't complain. I'm lucky to be alive, and to be safe, there are plenty worse off than me. I'm sorry, Harry."

She looked so broken that he couldn't help himself. "I can't do anything about the dress, but how about you having a shampoo and set before you go to Eaton Place, that will cheer you up." It was the only thing he could think of which didn't need a ration book.

He arranged for the car to drop them in Sloane Square. He knew, because of the excitement it had caused amongst his lady friends, that a salon had opened where ladies could have their hair dressed.

"Oh dear, who on earth cut your hair last?" the girl asked, as she took some scissors to try to tidy up the rough mop in front of her.

Harry's laughter was stifled when he saw the trace of a tear forming in Persie's eye. Pulling out his wallet he retrieved a pound note. It was expensive, but the girl deserved a tip for making Persie look reasonably presentable.

He thought they would part company in the Square, but she begged him to sit with her for a while. He could tell she was nervous, and he didn't blame her. People could be so very unkind, and under the circumstances he was absolutely sure that they would be. He put an arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her closer. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll be fine. Where's that old spirit of yours gone?"

It was the familiar term of endearment that did it. Without warning she burst into tears, burying her head against his shoulder as her whole body shook with sobs. "I've ruined my life, Harry," she wept bitterly.

"There, there," he muttered, ineffectually. "You're young; it's not too late for you." It was a meaningless platitude but what else could he say.

"It's not just me, Harry. If it was I wouldn't care." Her eyes met his, studying him carefully as she considered what she was about to say.

"There is a child."

"Where?"

"I sent him to school, just outside Dresden, I thought it would be safer. Please Harry, promise me you'll find him, bring him back to England."

Harry looked dubious. Surely she knew what had happened to that city, the terrible bombing. Perhaps the news had been hidden from them, just as the worst stories of the Blitz had been kept from Londoners, only known to the High Command and a few trusted officers.

"How old is he?"

"Seven," she answered quickly.

He did a rapid mental calculation. The boy wasn't his then, a year too young for that to be possible.

He knew it was a ridiculous promise to make, even as his mouth formed the words, but the thought of the little boy, left all alone to fend for himself in the Soviet sector touched his heart. "I'll do my best," he said reluctantly. "You'll need to give me the details."

"His name is Heinrich von Braun," she paused to fumble in her small handbag for a pen and paper, "His birthday is the fifth of May, and this is the address of the school. I've written a letter for him."

Harry stuffed the paper in his pocket, then got up, holding out a hand to help Persie off the bench. It was time for her to face the music, and for him to return to the airfield for his flight back to Berlin, and his new mercy mission.

_**

* * *

**_

_**A/N Thank you so much to the people who are reading and reviewing this story – I really appreciate it. I apologise for any historical errors in this and the following chapters. I have based them on my general knowledge and haven't done much additional research. I've reposted the chapter once as GajinVamp spotted an error! - let me know if there are any others**_

_**WRAC - Women's Royal Army Corps - as the name suggests a female support group who didn't fight but performed support tasks**_

_**A big thank you to Seamstress who pointed out that in ancient Greek mythology, Persephone was abducted by Hades, God of the Underworld, and forced to live with him. Eventually her release was secured but she had to go back for one season each year (winter). I have no idea whether Heidi Thomas, who created the character for BBC Wales, had this in mind when she named the character, but it does work very well for the purposes of this story.**_


	7. Soviet controlled Germany July 1945

**Soviet controlled eastern Germany, July 1945**

Major Fitzroy was incredulous when Harry explained what he had agreed to do.

"You must be mad, man. You'll be rounded up and shipped off to a prison camp if they find out who you are."

Harry winced. The Major was quite right about the risks, and having it stated out loud just reinforced the danger. However, he'd made a promise and he had to keep it. "I speak good German," he said, trying to sound confident. "And I can look after myself. There's a little boy to think of. I just can't leave him to his fate, not if I can help him."

Fitzroy nodded. He'd had Spargo under his command for seven years, the man was brave, and adaptable. If anyone could pull it off, he could. Besides, he agreed about the boy. He wasn't married and had no children of his own, but he had numerous nieces and nephews who he loved dearly. He would do the same for one of them, so he could understand how Harry felt.

"Look," he said, sounding most reluctant, "I'll need to discharge you from the service so there is no comeback if you are caught. It's a month early but you're owed leave so I can swing that. It will be an honourable discharge, you don't need to worry."

Harry nodded his thanks.

"I shouldn't do this, but I can get our men to make some false ID for you and the boy: German and English. You need to be able to pose as his father, it will make things easier."

Harry readily agreed, thankful that the Major was being so understanding.

A week later he was ready to set off. He had exchanged his army uniform for the shabby clothes of a farm labourer, and was armed with a new identity for himself as Johann von Braun. Sewn into the inside of his trousers was a fake English passport for the boy. He was dropped a couple of miles from the border into the Soviet sector. After that he was on his own.

He decided to travel cross-country to try to avoid any contact with the authorities. He had several days' food and water in his small rucksack, so he could keep to the rough tracks through woods and fields rather than risking the roads.

He walked from dawn to dusk, keeping up a steady pace and covered the distance in just over two days. It would be slower coming back with a young boy in tow, but the terrain wasn't difficult and the route was direct.

To his great relief, the school was still occupied when he reached his destination. His greatest fear was that the boys would already have been rounded up and shipped off to an uncertain fate. He spent the day watching their movements, trying to determine how he could find young Heinrich and get him out.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, the boys were let out into the playing fields for a break. Harry watched them carefully from behind a clump of trees on the perimeter. He was looking for any child who looked young enough to be in Heinrich's class. Luck was with him that day, as two small boys detached themselves from their companions and walked in his direction. He experienced a start of recognition as they came closer. One of them had a shock of blond hair, clear blue eyes, and an expression that was so like Persie that Harry almost gasped out loud.

"_Psst_," he hissed as the two boys came closer. "_You're Heinrich von Braun, right_?" he asked, in German. The little boy nodded suspiciously, looking to his companion for reassurance. _"I have a letter for you, from your mother_," Harry continued.

The boy's face broke into a broad grin. "_You can go back, I'll be fine_," he said to his friend.

"_Wait_," Harry ordered, pulling a bank-note out of his pocket and giving it to the boy. "_You're not to tell anyone about this, right. Promise me, on your mother's life_." The boy looked dubious but agreed, grabbing the money before he turned tail and ran.

Little Heinrich was reading the letter, which told him to trust the Englishman and to do as he was told. He knew it was from his mother, as she called him by the pet-name that only she ever used. "_Where are we going_?" he asked the man.

"_Your mother has gone back to England; she wants you to join her there. You know that the Russians control this area?"_

The boy nodded, a flash of fear crossing his face. He knew that everyone was scared of what the Russians would do to them.

"_Well_," Harry continued_, "we have to get out of here without being seen. You need to come with me now, is that alright_?"

The boy took a deep breath, fear and apprehension briefly showing on his face, before he composed himself. "Jawohl" he said. The look of determination on his face reminded Harry so much of the boy's mother, he felt a stab of pain at the thought of her.

"_Don't worry, I'll get you out of here_. Now, you need to remember that I'm your father, Otto von Braun, and I'm German." He looked at the boy sternly, waiting for confirmation.

The first two days passed without incident. They made good ground, and Harry was impressed with little Heinrich. The boy marched steadily and without complaint, even though he must have been hungry and thirsty, as they had only a few dry biscuits left to keep them going.

On the second night they found a place to shelter in the woods, a derelict woodman's cottage. As they emerged in the morning though, they walked straight into a Russian patrol. Harry gave the boy a meaningful look.

"_What is this_?" the two young soldiers asked, in Russian.

Luckily Harry had picked up a few phrases in that language. "_My name is Johann von Braun_," he answered. "_This is my son. We are going to Berlin to find his grandmother._"

The two soldiers looked at each other doubtfully.

Harry had reached the limits of his Russian so he switched to German. "_The boy's mother is dead, and there is no-one to look after him. He's only seven. I don't care what happens to me, but I need to get him to safety_."

The soldiers turned their backs and conducted a rapid conversation. Harry knew enough to tell that they were arguing. He had a pistol strapped to his leg and he was ready to use it. With his experience he wasn't worried about taking them both on, but he didn't relish doing it in front of young Heinrich. Luckily it wasn't necessary.

"_Just get out of here, now_!" the older of the two ordered.

He didn't need to be told again in Russian, German or English, grabbing Heinrich's hand the two fled for their lives. To his relief they reached the border by late afternoon.

The last mile would be the most dangerous part of the whole endeavour, as they had to cross back through the Soviet lines. Harry chose a wooded section, which wasn't well guarded. Before they set out, he spoke to the boy. "_If anything happens to me, you must carry on, do you understand?"_

Heinrich nodded, looking frightened for the first time.

Harry tousled his hair, "_Don't worry, I know you can do it, you're a brave boy. You must ask for Major Fitzroy. He knows who you are and he will help you_."

As darkness fell they dropped to their stomachs and began the slow crawl through the woodland. Progress was painful and slow, but they had to avoid being seen. The boy seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. He didn't make a sound, even though he must have been in pain.

Harry heard the retort of a rifle at about the same time that the agonising pain of a bullet shattering bone hit him in the leg. He bit his tongue as he grunted in pain.

"_Halt, whose there_," a Russian voice rang out.

Harry motioned to Heinrich to lie still, and they both pushed themselves into the ground. Harry's heart was racing. He didn't dare look up so he had no idea if they had been spotted. He could feel himself getting weaker as blood seeped out of his wound. He would have to tell the boy to go on without him.

After fifteen minutes or so he dared to look up. There was no sign of anyone, it must have been a lucky shot, or an unlucky one from his point of view.

Heinrich went pale as he saw the blood on the man's trousers, but he didn't hesitate. Taking off his belt he formed a tourniquet to staunch the flow. They had learned how to do this in school and for once he was very glad that he had been paying attention.

Harry smiled weakly. "_You're a good boy, Heinrich. Your mother should be very proud of you_."

_**So a short chapter and a bit of a cliffie. Back tomorrow to find out whether Harry and little Heinrich make it home safely!**_


	8. London September 1945

London September 1945

If Harry hadn't been so busy he might have felt more resentful that Lady Persephone hadn't come to see him. There was not so much as a thank you note for everything he had done to save her and her son. He thought, hoped perhaps, that she might have changed, but obviously not.

The Garage took up most of his time though, leaving him too exhausted to do anything but sleep. It had been his obsession all through the war, the one thing that kept him going through the times of deepest despair, when he wondered if he would ever get out alive. He had spent every period of leave keeping it tidy, repairing any bomb damage and preparing it for his return. Luckily it had never taken a direct hit and had been ready and waiting when he was demobbed.

It was probably the worst possible time to start a business, he reflected ruefully. Petrol was still on ration and virtually impossible to get hold of unless you had connections. The motor parts manufacturers were slow to return to civilian production. He had connections though, and could cannibalise pretty much anything. He did a good job and trade was picking up steadily, assisted, he often suspected, by some recommendations from Sir Hallam. At least one member of the Holland family had shown him some gratitude.

He didn't bother to look up at first, when he heard the gentle tap on the door, one midweek September afternoon. The click of heels across the concrete floor got his attention though, and glancing up over the edge of the inspection pit he saw a pair of shapely calves and delicate ankles. He clambered out awkwardly from underneath the car, running a hand through his hair, which only succeeded in smearing it with thick black grease.

"Lady Persephone, it's good to see you. You're looking well." It wasn't just a pleasantry. The woman in front of him had been transformed from the wraith he had brought back from Berlin. She was no longer skin and bone, her hair had the glossy shine he remembered from all those years ago, but most of all the life had come back into her eyes.

Persie gave him a rueful smile. "Mrs Thackeray insists on feeding me up. She still doesn't like me very much, but she could never resist a pathetic stray creature." She paused for a moment. "You must think me terribly ungrateful for not coming to thank you earlier, Harry, just as spoilt and selfish as I always have been."

Harry was tempted to agree but the look on her face stopped him. He contented himself with asking how she was.

"I'm…alright…now," she replied hesitantly, "I'm a complete social outcast of course, an embarrassment to the family, but I brought that on myself. I haven't been well though, I wanted to see you earlier, but I just couldn't. I'm sorry. "

Harry was at a loss how to respond. He had imagined this conversation with her, played it over in his head, but it had never gone quite like this. Remembering his manners he asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I'll make it, just show me where everything is," Persie replied, regarding his grease covered hands with some suspicion.

He indicated a single hotplate with an old kettle, next to the sink in the corner. "The milk is outside in a bucket of water," he explained.

She made a good cup of tea, dark and strong. Harry couldn't help but be touched that she remembered how he liked it.

"So business is booming?" she asked conversationally.

"Well not exactly booming, but I'm doing alright." He knew that his little set up would look mean and shabby to her, but it was his and he was proud of it.

"So I see," Persie was shuffling the pile of papers on the desk, trying to make space for her cup. "You need someone to take you in hand, Harry," she said, disapprovingly.

The shock of hearing her sounding so much like the old Lady Persie, provoked an ironic laugh. Once he'd started he couldn't stop and soon he was shaking with laughter. She just sat watching him, tapping her foot with a look of disapproval on her face.

"If you've quite finished," she said, haughtily, "I was going to offer to tidy up for you."

He looked suspicious, "You don't have to do that."

"I might as well; I've nothing better to do this afternoon." She paused, "I'm sorry, that sounded rude, what I mean is that I'd like to do it."

Harry's expression didn't vary. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her; in some ways she was so much her old self, but he had to acknowledge that something about her had changed. He just wasn't sure who the real Persie was now. Still, it was true that his paperwork was a mess and he could never quite find the time to sort it out. Reluctantly he accepted her offer.

Persie took off her jacket and got down to work, while Harry struggled back down into the pit to continue wrestling with the Talbot, which was proving quite a challenge to his engineering skills. He'd got used to being on his own. After seven years in the constant company of other men it was something of a relief. He had to admit though that having company made the afternoon go faster. She worked in silence for the most part, but every now and then she would have a question about one of the bills or orders. Harry couldn't resist asking about the family and the household at Eaton Square.

"How's little Heinrich doing?" He often thought about the boy and how brave and resourceful he had been.

"He's Henry now," a smile crossed her face at the thought of her son. "I'll never forget what you did Harry, you saved his life. He often talks about you as well; you seem to have made a big impression on him."

He brushed away her thanks with a dismissive gesture. "As long as he's settling in, that's good."

"It's not easy for him," Persie admitted, "he's just started at St Paul's as a day boy with his cousin Hector, but he still has a German accent, and the boys tease him because… well because of his father."

"Well, if there is ever anything I can do, you only have to ask." He had no idea what prompted him to say that; he had already decided that he didn't want her back in his life, it would bring too many complications.

The sun was sinking in the sky by the time he finally finished with the car he was working on. "You'd better be going, it's getting late. We wouldn't want people worrying about you, would we?" he said, as he dragged himself up out of the pit.

"I don't think anyone worries about me," she replied, sadly.

Harry offered to walk her home, but she refused. It wasn't far, and it there was still enough daylight left. She would be fine, she insisted. He shook his head as he watched her stride off down the mews. He hadn't expected to see her again, and had been unprepared for the effect she would have on him. She was the most infuriating woman he had ever met, and at the same time, the most intoxicating. Spending time with her had stirred up a lot of memories he had thought long buried. They weren't all bad memories either; he had to admit that they had some good times together, and not just in bed.

He was glad he had a date to look forward to on Saturday night. Adeline was a pretty, dark-haired French girl who worked at Peter Jones on Sloane Square. He'd only been seeing her for a few weeks, but she was good fun and he enjoyed her company. She was a brunette, like Persie, and she had curves in all the right places. She shared a small flat with another girl, just off the Old Brompton Road. Most conveniently, her girlfriend worked late in the evenings so that she could entertain Harry. She did that very well, and she was a good cook into the bargain. It was an arrangement which suited him down to the ground.

* * *

He normally opened up the Garage at about eight. He'd just finished his second cup of tea the next morning when Persie opened the door and strode in as if she owned the place. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated display of surprise.

"What's the matter with you," she snapped at him. "I didn't finish the paperwork yesterday; you don't expect me to leave a job half-finished did you?"

To be honest, that was exactly what he had thought. She had played at doing a day's work, but he hadn't expected her to make a habit of it. He just shrugged though, knowing better than to argue with her. "There's some tea in the pot, it's a bit stewed but help yourself," he said, dismissively as he prepared to get to work.

Persie was silent as she worked. She had expected him to be angry with her yesterday when she turned up after so long without a word. The truth was that she had felt so low, she hadn't been able to leave her bedroom for many weeks after her return to England. Harry had seen the full extent of her humiliation and she had dreaded facing him, not knowing how he would react.

To her surprise he hadn't blamed her, and had been as tactful as anyone could have hoped for. He always had been kind though, she thought sadly. Not for the first time she wished that things could have worked out differently, that she hadn't been so immature. It was too late for regrets now. No man would want her after what she had done. What she really needed now was to be able to look after herself and little Henry, and her day spent sorting Harry's papers had given her an idea.

They both jumped as the telephone rang. Harry swore as he hit his head on the undercarriage of the car, and then again as Persie laughed at him. He'd thought about getting rid of the phone, it was expensive and he hardly ever managed to answer it.

"Good morning, Spargo Motors, how may I help you?" Her telephone manner was perfect, he had to admit; firm and efficient but still feminine.

"Harry, where's your appointment book?" she asked, impatiently.

"My what?" His records were the backs of envelopes and old paper bags

She sighed and found a torn envelope to write on. "You really need to be more professional, Harry," she said disapprovingly as she put down the telephone. "How many times does this phone ring and you don't answer it. And I'd be willing to bet that you have lost work because you don't have proper records."

He was glad to be out of her line of sight. She was quite right; there had been more than one embarrassing incident when he had two jobs booked in at the same time. That meant a potential customer going elsewhere and lost forever. He wasn't going to admit it though.

"Listen, Lady Persie, I've been running this business quite successfully for the last two months before you deigned to turn up, and I can carry on after you've gone."

She ignored his rudeness. "Fine, but I'm not leaving until I have these papers in order." She fully intended to do more, but she wasn't going to let on to him quite yet. "And Harry, please will you drop the 'Lady', I think we're past that, aren't we?"

Harry felt guilty for snapping at her. "Let's have a nice cup of tea, shall we," he offered by way of conciliation, hauling himself awkwardly out of the inspection pit. His ankle still gave him gyp, especially as the damper autumn days were coming on.

"Honestly, Harry, I think that's your answer to everything. Is there any problem that can't be solved by a nice cup of tea?"

"No," he laughed, and she smiled in response. The bad feeling seemed to evaporate. Perhaps Harry was right about the healing power of tea, she thought. She watched him as he filled the kettle and gave the cups a cursory rinse. He had always been handsome, but the years had been good to him. His face was weather-beaten, a result she imagined of fighting in North Africa, and he had a few more lines but that just made him look more interesting. He still had the same muscular build. She gave an involuntary shiver at the memory of how good it had been to lie in those strong arms, with his rough hands caressing her smooth skin. She had to turn away to hide her face for a few moments.

By the time he came back with the tea, she had recovered herself and was focussing once again on the task in hand.

"Thank you," he said as the time came to close up for the evening.

"I enjoyed it. It just feels good to be doing something useful, instead of sitting around the house in a cloud of disapproval." Her smile was a little sad, and he made no move to leave.

Harry took his time as he stripped off his work overalls and washed his hands. He had an idea, but it was presumptuous and he didn't want to offend her. The silence grew heavy between them, until they both launched in.

"Harry, I…."she said

"I've been thinking…." he said

They both laughed, and Persie motioned to him to continue.

"What I mean is…I don't want to offend you but…" he struggled to find the words.

"Spit it out will you, I don't have all night." That was the haughty Lady Persie he was used to.

"I really appreciate what you've done for me here. I think you're right, I need someone to help me run things, and I wondered if you would ….." he tailed off, watching carefully for her reaction. Taking her silence as approval he continued.

"If you'd like I could pay you whatever the going rate is." Harry looked at the floor, waiting for her to react.

"I think that's an excellent idea," she replied enthusiastically, "I need a job, and this will suit me very well, for a few weeks at least, when would you like me to start?"

"Well, could you come back on Monday; that is if you don't have anything more important on?"

* * *

The weeks soon turned into months. It didn't take long before Persie had the running of the business as well-oiled as the cars Harry worked on. She set up a proper appointments system, and kept accurate records so that every payment was chased. Her imperious but flirtatious manner had all of his suppliers wrapped round her little finger. She wasn't above using her title when necessary which did help them to get hold of the scarce parts which other garages didn't have.

Business really was booming now, so much so that he often had to work on Saturdays and Sundays, not wishing to lose the customers Persie had wooed so assiduously. It played havoc with his love life, but luckily Adeline was forgiving. Mind you, he did make it up to her with the amount of money he spent when they managed to go out together, and the little presents for when they stayed in.

"I've been thinking," Persie announced one morning.

"Really," Harry said, suspiciously. He was getting a little tired of her ideas; they all seemed to generate more work for him.

"You're getting so much work now, you should think about taking on another man to help." When Harry didn't reply she continued. "And you could look at bigger premises, enough room to work on two or three cars at once." She realised then that she had gone too far, as he narrowed his eyes in anger.

He grabbed her by the arm, disregarding the fact that his hand was covered in grease, and dragged her outside.

"What does that say?" he asked, harshly, pointing at the sign above the door. When she didn't answer he repeated himself, more forcefully this time. "I said, what does it say?"

"Spargo Motors," she answered in a shaky voice.

"Yes, Spargo Motors, not Towyn Motors, not Lady Persephone's Motors, but Spargo Motors, Harry Spargo, me." He paused for breath feeling a little embarrassed that he had lost his temper. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to shout at you. It's just that I'm already working all the hours God sends, and now you want me to do more."

Persie briefly contemplated backing down, but rejected the idea. She knew she was right, and she was determined to make him see it. If he didn't like it he could always give her the sack, she would find another job. "Harry, please just hear me out. My suggestion is that you do less, but make more money. If you find bigger premises, you can have more customers, and pay someone to help you out. There are plenty of men looking for work after all. I know you're working too hard; it's not good for you. Besides it must be ruining your social life." She forced a laugh as she finished her sentence. She knew he had a lady-friend: French, if she recognised her accent on the telephone correctly.

Harry sighed and picked up a rag to wipe the grease off his hands. He offered it to her, to remove the mark he'd left on her wrist, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't you dare offer me a cup of tea," Persie snapped, "Just promise me you'll think about it."

He knew when he was beaten. She did have a point of course, it was just that this Garage was his, he'd built it up himself and it was the one thing in his life he could be really proud of.

Persie watched him carefully. Suddenly she realised what the problem was, and shook her head with a sigh. "Harry, I know how much this place means to you. I remember when you first showed it to me, how it was your dream. You've done a wonderful job here, I'm not suggesting you haven't, but you could do even better."

"So, you're a mind reader now are you?" he quipped bitterly. "I'll tell you what; you can have a look and see if there are any suitable premises, and how much they would cost. I promise I'll think about it," he gave her a weak smile.

Persie tried not to show her satisfaction at the outcome. "I'll go to the local estate agents and see if they have anything suitable. If you want I could get you some supper while I'm out. You'll have to let me have some coupons though."

His ration book was at home. He was strongly tempted to refuse her offer, but the only item in his cupboard was a mouldy loaf of bread. Reluctantly he fished out his front door key and gave her the address.

She would be shocked when she saw he house, he knew that. It was just a basic two-up, two-down terrace, but he'd got it for a song after the previous owner was killed in an air raid. Unfortunately it had sustained a lot of bomb damage, and had been systematically looted while he was overseas. He'd made it weathertight and just about habitable, but that was all.

* * *

Persie wasn't quite sure what to expect, but she had to confess herself shocked. The house was still semi-derelict. As she picked her way gingerly over the uneven floorboards in the hall, she glanced into the living room. The only furniture was an old armchair and a sideboard with a wireless on it.

The kitchen wasn't much better. There was a table with two chairs, a food cupboard and a two-ring hotplate. A pile of washing up sat in the sink. Persie rolled up her sleeves and turned on the hot tap. A rather unsafe looking gas heater spluttered into life, and she made short work of the dishes. She turned her attention to the cupboard, throwing out several mouldy items and taking an inventory of what remained.

His French woman wasn't taking very good care of him, she thought. She obviously had other talents. She forced the image of Harry in bed with another woman out of her mind as she retrieved his ration book from a drawer in the kitchen cupboard.

Her trip down the King's Road turned out to be very successful. The butcher had a nice little piece of steak for her, off coupon, he said with a wink. Harry's Garage serviced his van for a very good price so he was happy to return the favour. The greengrocer was another customer, so she was able to pick up some nice potatoes and a cabbage.

Best of all, she found the perfect premises. It was right down at the World's End, but that meant they should be able to get it for a good price. It was freehold as well. Now all she had to do was persuade Harry.

It was mid-afternoon when she got back, and after making the obligatory cup of tea, she sat down with the pile of particulars she had got from the various estate agents. She started with the most expensive and least suitable, so that by the time she got to the one she really wanted, she had worn down Harry's resistance.

"The freehold is two hundred pounds, that's a lot of money," he protested.

"Yes, but its already set up, you can start up in business there straight away. You could get a mortgage with your house as security."

"That's risky though, what if I lost the house?"

Persie sighed and tutted at the same time, he really was impossible. "I'll draw you up a financial schedule to show that it's possible, how about that?"

"I will need another mechanic," he said, accepting the inevitable.

"Men come round every week, looking for work. You just need to offer a trial to the next one who calls." Harry sighed again. It really wasn't worth arguing, she had an answer for everything.

Sure enough, someone did call looking for work the very next day. He wasn't exactly what Harry or Persie had expected though.

His arrival was heralded by a firm tap on the garage door. Medium height, with his hair slicked back and a nervous smile on his face. And he was coloured. "Hexcuse me Sir," he said, with just the hint of an accent, "I was wondering if you had any work."

"I'm sorry…" Harry started to say, but Persie interrupted him.

"Actually, we are looking for someone. We could give you a trial." She ignored Harry's glare of disapproval.

"Dat would be wonderful," the newcomer said. "I was in the RAF, a mechanic at Biggin Hill. I can repair just about anything."

"Fine," Harry said, ungraciously. "Have a look at this engine and tell me what you think." He opened the bonnet of the car he was working on.

"My name is Sylvester, by the way, Sylvester Lascelles." He offered his hand which Harry, then Persie shook in turn.

Turning his attention to the car, Sylvester prodded and poked, asking for a wrench, which Harry handed him. After a few moments he stood back and gave a long explanation of what was wrong and what he would do to repair it.

Harry's expression softened. "Yes, that sounds about right to me. I can offer you a week's trial at one pound ten shillings." It was below the going rate and he expected the man to argue, but instead Sylvester just nodded. "Monday, then," Harry continued. "We start at eight on the dot."

"Do you have any references?" Persie asked.

"Oh yes, Ma'am, of course." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and extracted two rather battered looking letters. A small photograph fell on the floor; Persie bent down to pick it up. The grainy picture showed a little boy in a pair of dungarees glaring into the camera; he looked to be about two years old.

"He's sweet," Persie commented with a smile, "Is he your son?"

"Yes Ma'am. He's in Barbados with his mother, but I hope to bring them over here as soon as I can. That's why I need a job, so I can rent a flat for the three of us."

"Where do you live now?"

"In rooms, in Ladbroke Grove, but there are three of us sharing. It's not suitable for a family." The cheery grin left his face and he looked despondent. "Anyway, I should get on. I'll be here Monday, eight o'clock sharp."

Harry waited a few moments till he was sure the man would be out of earshot, then he turned to Persie, looking furious. "Do you listen to a word I say? This is my garage, mine, do you hear. There's no 'we' about it."

Persie swallowed hard, she looked as if she might cry, but she stood her ground. "Harry, we agreed you would take the next suitable man on trial. He seemed to know what he was talking about, and the references were very good." She paused, waiting to see if he would respond, but he was silent. "You are not going to tell me that you don't want to take him because he's coloured!" She sounded genuinely shocked.

"Some of the customers…." Harry's voice trailed off weakly.

"Harry Spargo, you and I both know better than to care what a few ignorant customers think. If Mr Lascelles is any good he gets the job, are we agreed?"

"Yes," he responded, attempting a smile.

Pushing home her advantage, Persie continued, "and the estate agents?"

"Offer them a hundred and eighty pounds, and we'll take it off their hands straight away." Harry knew when he was beaten.


	9. London May 1946

London, May 1946

There were many unexploded bombs in London that spring. They were found in gardens, on wasteland, even in the grounds of Buckingham Palace. For the most part they were dismantled or detonated safely. For Persephone Towyn the unexploded bomb lay inside her heart: the lie she had told the man she loved. The damage it would cause would be far more devastating to her than the mere destruction of a house.

She had done it with the best of intentions, thinking to protect her son, but now it had the power to ruin everything. As Henry's birthday approached she could almost hear the fuse burning away.

If it wasn't for that her life would have been almost perfect, she reflected, as she leant back in her smart office chair, smoking a cigarette. It was certainly more than she could have expected, and possibly more than she deserved.

The new garage on the Kings' Road was a great success. The new location helped, but even Harry had to admit that a big part of it was thanks to her efforts. She had ideas about advertising; she made suggestions for improving the service such as valeting the cars before returning them. They had bought a car to lend to people while their own was being repaired. It had 'Courtesy of Spargo Motors' painted on the side, giving them free advertising.

The new building had space for a separate office for her, and a small waiting room. Harry complained that she'd made it look more like a Harley Street consulting room, with fresh flowers and a selection of second-hand magazines. It attracted the customers though, especially some of the ladies who now had their own little cars.

That wasn't the only thing that attracted the ladies, she thought grimly. She would sometimes notice the the looks on their faces when Harry or Sylvester came out to explain the work that was needed. She could hardly confess to being shocked, and she wasn't really surprised. That didn't stop the tiny stab of pain every time she saw Harry smile at an attractive customer.

She was glad that Sylvester's wife and son were here now, as she would have felt responsible if he had been led astray. The three of them rented the flat above the garage, an arrangement which suited everyone. It had been quite a surprise to see his boy, Anthony, now a strapping lad of six and quite transformed from the cheeky little urchin in the old photograph.

She knew that Harry had given up any pretence that it was anything other than a joint enterprise now. He was a good mechanic, and she was a good businesswoman, together they made the perfect partnership. He had even offered to rename the business 'Spargo and Towyn' but she refused. Perhaps it was because deep down she couldn't help wishing that it was more than a business partnership but she kept that thought to herself.

Adeline, the French shop-girl, had come and gone. Harry had let slip that she had become jealous of Persie's place in Harry's life and had foolishly given him a 'her or me' ultimatum. What he didn't tell her was that his decision had barely taken a moment's thought. He had seen other women since then – Persie could always tell from the expression on his face and the spring in his step when he came in the day after he'd had a date. He never mentioned any names though, and none of them seemed to become permanent fixtures in his life.

She professed herself satisfied that she had her independence and a purpose in life. The income from the business came in handy. She was saving as much as she could to buy her own place, perhaps a nice little flat in one of the mansion blocks off the King's Road so she could be in easy reach of the garage. In the meantime it suited her to stay at Eaton Square. Henry liked to be with his cousin Hector; the boys could go to school together, and old Lady Maud supervised their homework every evening.

At weekends, Persie would be sure to make up for her weekday separation from her son with little treats and outings for him. To her surprise Harry took a keen interest in the boy's welfare. It was returned in kind, as Henry thought him an absolute hero. They would go to the Zoo, or window shopping in Regent Street. Sometimes, on Saturdays, Harry would take him to see the Association Football at Stamford Bridge. On Sundays they might go to the garage, where Henry loved to mess about with the engines.

"You're very good to him," Persie would say. It was a strange emotion for her, seeing the two of them together. They both had the same shock of dirty blond hair, and there were times when her boy's mannerisms would remind her forcefully of Harry.

"He's a good kid, I like him." The fact that he was another man's son didn't seem to matter.

"How are you getting on at Eaton Place?" he asked one Sunday, as they sat in the garden of his little terraced house, drinking lemonade.

"It's okay," the boy conceded, "Mrs Thackeray is very kind, she makes us extra desserts when she can get the ingredients." His English was improving all the time, and he had lost all trace of his German accent.

"I used to work there you know, I was your Uncle's chauffeur before the war."

Henry looked both surprised and puzzled at the statement. He sat silently, deep in thought for several minutes. When he spoke, his question came as a shock to them both: "Mama, what's an 'affair'?"

A faint blush coloured Persie's cheeks, as Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow waiting to see what her response would be.

"It's when a man and a lady who aren't married are friends," she explained, trying to sound matter of fact.

"So are you and Mr Spargo having an affair?" Henry persisted with his line of questioning.

Persie went a little pinker, and Harry just laughed.

"No," she replied firmly.

"But you are friends?" Henry sounded worried now.

Harry jumped in to try to save further embarrassment. "What your mother means to say is that it's when the lady and gentleman are more than just friends, but you're a bit young to understand that."

Henry may not have known the right words, but he understood very well. "You mean when they…do things…like in the book in Great-Aunt Maud's library?"

By now Persie was distinctly pink. "What book?" she asked in a slightly strangled tone.

"Hector and I found it, it's an Indian book, and it has picture of men and ladies doing….things…together." Henry had picked up on his mother's reaction and was now looking embarrassed himself.

Harry just roared with laughter, earning himself a fierce glare from Persie.

"That doesn't sound at all suitable for boys of your age. You must promise me you won't look at it again," she ordered sternly, getting up to refill the lemonade jug.

It was lucky for Harry that she didn't hear his whispered aside to the boy, "You can lend it to me if you like," he suggested to a burst of shared conspiratorial laughter.

"Why on earth did he ask that?" Persie said later, when they were alone.

"He's been listening to gossip at Eaton Place I'll bet," Harry sighed.

"But we were so careful. I don't believe that anyone knew about us."

Harry shook his head. "You have no idea what goes on below stairs sweetheart, the staff know everything."

"You must be glad of the privacy here then," she responded, surveying the small room where they were sitting.

Harry's little house had been her new mission, once the new garage premises were complete. Harry hadn't bothered trying to resist. They had spent several weekends cleaning and painting, finally getting all the rooms into habitable shape. He'd had one of the bedrooms partitioned into two and an indoor bathroom plumbed in. It was expensive, but Persie convinced him that it was worthwhile, with his job being as dirty as it was. They made the little house quite cosy, furnishing it with some good quality rugs and second hand furniture that had been recovered from bomb-damaged houses and sold from the local rag and bone yard.

He had a proper kitchen as well, with a 'New World' cooker and a small refrigerator. Persie was delighted with it. She had decided that it was time she learned to cook.

She had persuaded a reluctant Mrs Thackeray to teach her, reasoning that one day she would need to be able to fend for herself. It took her a few weeks to pluck up the courage to try out her new-found skills on Harry, but eventually she took the plunge and offered to make him an Irish stew. He was initially dubious but, to both their surprise, it was really quite delicious.

Slowly, almost without either of them realising it, she had become a fixture in his life. The occasional supper became a regular event. Before long they had got into a little routine. She would cook their supper on most evenings, while Harry cleaned himself up and built up the living room fire. He would wash the dishes then afterwards they would sit and listen to the wireless, or read and talk.

"This must be a bit of a come-down for you," he had teased her, "after what you're used to."

She wanted to tell him that she had never felt more comfortable, but that would be tempting fate. Instead she settled on commenting that he had obviously never lived in a thousand year old Welsh Castle or he would know what discomfort really meant.

Neither of them would admit it to the other, but they both dreaded the approach of nine o'clock, when Persie would get her coat and Harry would walk her back to Eaton Square.

More than once, Harry considered asking her to stay, but something made him hesitate. Things were good between them, comfortable and settled. He didn't want to ruin their friendship because he couldn't control his physical desires. He could find other woman of course. Adeline had dropped him when he refused to get rid of Persie. "You think more of her than you do of me," the French woman had complained, which, Harry realised, was absolutely true. Now he contented himself with brief liaisons where he could avoid any risk of emotional entanglement.

Persie's greatest dread was that one day he would find himself a new lover. That would put an end to their comfortable evenings together, and to any chance of happiness for her. She told herself it was no more than she deserved, but many was the night she would lie in bed torturing herself. She imagined some pretty, blonde young thing cooking Harry's meals and darning his clothes for him.

"Are you sure you don't mind me being here every night?" she asked

"Mind?" he repeated, as if he were unsure of the meaning of the word.

"Yes. I just thought perhaps I might be in the way, if you wanted to have a lady friend or something…"

He opened his mouth to ask why on earth he would need a lady friend when he had her, when comprehension began to dawn.

"I'm fine," he said, "To tell you the truth, I'm very happy with our little set up. If you're bored though, we could always go out. We could go to the flicks, or perhaps for a drink."

"Just like the old days."

"No, not like the old days," he said angrily, "I'll have no more skulking in corners. If we go out, we'll walk down the street arm in arm and I won't care who sees us."

"I'd like that. I just wish…"

Harry held up a finger to silence her. "There's no point in dwelling on the past, sweetheart. You've got a second chance now; you really don't need to rake things over."

Persie wouldn't let the issue rest; she wanted Harry to understand how she felt. "I was spoilt, and wilful.."

"and selfish," Harry added, unhelpfully. He felt guilty as her face fell. "Sorry, that was unkind. The thing is you're passionate and when you decide to do something, you do it, whatever the consequences. I don't think you're a bad person, but you made some bad choices.

"But other people suffered because of me…you, little Henry…"

"And now you're making it up to us." Harry had reached his limits when it came to profound conversation. He started fiddling with the wireless set. "Now sweetheart, _ITMA_ is on, could we just listen please."

Typical man, Persie thought, but she was grateful to leave the painful subject of the past behind, at least for now. The secret was always there though, nagging away.

What she didn't realise was that Harry already suspected that she had lied to him about Henry's real age. There were too many clues. Neither could he ignore the number of people who assumed, on seeing them, that they were father and son. It happened on the street, at football, in the garage.

Eventually Henry had picked up on it. "I wish you were my Dad," he had said, bringing a lump into Harry's throat. As the boy's birthday came around he decided it was now or never. He had to know the truth and he might never have a better chance.

"Look at him," Harry laughed, waving at Henry, as he played with his cousin in the little garden, "It's hard to believe he's really nine already"

"Yes, I can hardly bel…..ah" Persie stammered to a halt, blushing a dark pink as she realised that she had been caught out.

"Tell me the truth, Persie. Don't you think you owe me that, at least?"

"I didn't lie about his birthday, Harry, it is today. But you're right, he was born in May 1937, soon after I arrived in Berlin. The thing is I don't know who the father is – I was sleeping with Von Ribbentrop as well as with you the previous autumn, either of you could be the father." She hung her head, pain etched across her face. There were no words which could justify what she had done.

"You should have told me," was Harry's simple response. "Besides you only have to look at him, to spend time with him to know that he cannot be the son of that Nazi, it's just not possible." He spat out the last few words in disgust.

"I hope he's not, Harry, really I do. Besides, I know that Henry would be proud to have you as his father. The thing is, I never want you to feel an obligation to either of us. Henry is my responsibility, and he always will be."

She was trying to look determined and defiant, but actually she just looked sad. Harry couldn't resist the urge to put an arm around her shoulder and kiss her hair.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll do what I think is right." He didn't explain what the right thing was; he needed time to think.

It took him a week to make up his mind. Friday night came around. Another successful week had come to a close, and he had splashed out on a bottle of French wine to accompany their supper. He finished the washing up and came back into the living room, where Persie was reading a magazine. Twice he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Finally he took a deep breath and launched in.

"There's something I need to ask you, Persie. If you think I'm being presumptuous, you must promise to forget all about it, and we'll never speak of it again."

He twisted his hands in his lap, unsure how to go on. Persie watched him carefully, hardly daring to move or speak.

She laughed to hide her nervousness, "Harry, whatever the question is, the answer is yes."

It was Harry's turn to laugh nervously, "What if I want you to tear all your clothes off and make passionate love with me, right here on the floor?" he teased.

"If that's the question, the answer is most definitely yes," she said, raising her eyebrows flirtatiously.

"Well actually, all I wanted to know is if you fancied going to the flicks on Saturday night?" Harry regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He felt guilty at the look of pained disappointment on her face.

"Harry, please don't tease me. I know I was cruel to you, but I don't deserve this." Persie struggled to keep her voice even and hold back the tears that threatened.

Crossing the room to where she was sitting, he lifted her up into his arms and held her close, gently stroking her hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he whispered. "Come here," he led her over to the sideboard and opened a drawer, fishing out a small box.

Flushing with embarrassment, he dropped awkwardly onto one knee. "Lady Persephone," he said, his tone formal, "would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" He offered her the box which contained a simple ring with a single small diamond.

Persie bit her lip, but nothing could stop the tears from coursing down her cheeks.

"Oh, come on now, it's not that bad," Harry grouched as he struggled back up to his feet.

"I don't deserve you, darling," she said, kissing his hands, first one then the other.

"I'm not sure I deserve you," he said wryly, twisting the meaning. "But we're good together, aren't we. Besides it means Henry will have a real father, at last."

"He'll be so happy, I know he will." Her pleasure in anticipating the boy's reaction almost outweighed her own.

"We should tell him the truth you know, I don't want any more lies." Harry insisted firmly.

A look of pain crossed Persie's face. He'd made her uncomfortable again.

"Listen to me," he said, sounding deadly serious. "Henry is my son. I know it, you know it, and he should know it. That's the end of the matter and we'll hear no more about it."

"I can pop into the Registry Office tomorrow and make the arrangements," Harry offered, "unless of course you'd like to wait."

"I'd marry you right now, if I could, Harry Spargo," she laughed, slipping her arms around his waist and reaching up to kiss him. It was so wonderful to feel his arms around her, at that moment she never wanted to let him go.

Disappointment clouded her face when, at nine, he got up to walk her home as usual. "I thought…" she tailed off.

"No sweetheart, this time we're going to do things right. We shall have a proper wedding night together, and it will be just like the first time."

They both blushed at that, remembering their first time, all those years ago in the garage bedroom at Eaton Square.

"Beside, shouldn't I ask Sir Hallam's permission, or at least tell him?"

Persie scowled at the thought that they should be beholden to anyone, but her brother in law had been very good to her, and to her son. He at least deserved the courtesy of being the first to know.

It felt very strange to walk, arm in arm, up the steps to the front door of 165 Eaton Square. Harry gave her a little squeeze as they rang the bell, although in truth he was probably more nervous than she was. Pritchard's face was a picture. He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at Lady Persie's left hand and saw the small ring there.

"I would like to see Sir Hallam, if he is available," Harry asked with the utmost formality.

"Of course," Pritchard replied, remembering his manners, "won't you come in and wait."

Having ascertained that the master was indeed receiving visitors, Pritchard hurried downstairs as quickly as was decently possible to share the news with Mrs Thackeray and Miss Buck.

"See, I told you they had an affair, didn't I," the old cook snorted in disgust. "And what's more, I'd be willing to bet that the little boy is his – anyone can see it as has eyes in their head."

"That's enough, Clarice," Mr Pritchard interrupted her in mid-flow. "I'm sure we all hope that Lady Persephone and Mr Spargo will be very happy together," he added in his most pompous tone, although he couldn't quite keep the look of disapproval off his face.

It was a quiet wedding at Chelsea Town Hall. Sir Hallam and Lady Agnes were witnesses, and the two boys had new suits made for them. Harry had saved up enough coupons for a new suit of his own, made by Sir Hallam's own tailor. Their party was completed by Mr Pritchard, Mrs Thackeray and Miss Buck, and by Sylvester Lascelles with his wife and son.

There were gasps of surprise as Persie entered the room. Harry's eyes widened at the sight of her. She was wearing a red satin dress, long and flowing, hugging every curve. He recognised it immediately.

"I had to have it let out a little," she confessed afterwards. "But I know they all think of me as a scarlet woman, so why not live up to my reputation."

Lady Agnes had offered Eaton Square for the wedding breakfast, but Harry refused. They would have it at their own house – just to prove to the world that they had nothing to be ashamed of. He wasn't too proud to accept Mrs Thackeray's cooking though, or two bottles of Sir Hallam's finest champagne.

When the guests finally left, Persie went to lock up, but Harry stopped her.

"I've got something to show you, my wedding gift to you sweetheart. It won't take long." Handing her a jacket, he took her hand and they set off down towards the Kings' Road.

He'd had a new sign painted for the garage. "Spargo and Sons" it read, then in smaller letters below: 'Proprietors Mr and Mrs H Spargo'.

Persie cried when she saw it. "They've spelled it wrong, it has an extra 's'," she stammered, through the tears.

Harry bent down to kiss her cheek, brushing his hand lightly over her stomach. "Not at all, sweetheart, I have hopes, after all."

_**Hurrah, a happy ending at last for Harry and Persie. That's the end of my little story, so thanks for reading and commenting – if you've followed it through to the end, please let me know what you think – it's never too late to give feedback!**_

_**Enormous thanks to LiveSimple, jaxg, GajinVamp, Seamstress, MissMattSmith, Mirill and Drumbjo who have been so supportive and encouraging with this story – love to you all.**_


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